Inescapable
by sych77
Summary: FOR ZARBOK:it's all about the files. That's why STARS is doing HCF's work for them, why Umbrella is after them more than ever, why one of their number was killed. It's why they're attacking, tonight. So would someone PLEASE tell them what the files said?
1. the Prologues

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Inescapable**

_I love ya for clicking on that link. I'll also love ya a whole lot more if you give me a review, unless you flame me in which case I might not love ya so much._

_First: this is **not **a sequel to my other fic, at least, not at this point in time._

_Second: I'm incorporating the first (slightly horrible, admittedly) movie into this, so cut me some slack. I'm juggling a lot of things in this story. I don't know when RE:A is coming out, but being in NZ I won't get to see it for about a year, so assume it doesn't exist. So please be nice?_

_Third: Yeah, it's a real setting. Really, it is. If you ever come to NZ I'll show you around and loose you in the forest so you can have a Blair Witch experience. If you're wondering, it's called "Pegasus" "Bottle Lake" and "Spencer Park". Oh, the biologic-warfare part of it might not really exist. I guess you'll have to see for yourself._

_**Disclaimer:** it's fanfiction. Nuff said._

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**PROLOGUE**

Running away from things that long to violently rip out your intestines is always an exciting experience. You can break all the world records and cover three kilometers in a split second just to save your skin. You can lift more than you ever thought possible. You can loose more blood than should ever exist.

I thought I had seen some impressive feats of strength. I was wrong. I learnt that the smallest movement can sometimes take the most effort, in the right circumstances.

I tripped. It was inevitable, I suppose. The folders hit the ground and splayed open. I expected to feel life yanked away from me. But not all things play out like a dramatic movie.

I glanced behind me. The hall was empty. There were no pounding footsteps or hissing creatures. There was just me, bleeding and gasping like a hooked fish on the carpet, making the place look disorganized.

Despite the lack of demons, there was also a distinct absence of angels. There was no one who came running out of one of the many doors lining the corridor, no one who asked if I was okay and called an ambulance.

It took all my effort to stand up, I don't mind telling you. I wanted to stay there for all eternity, the same way I can sometimes ignore I have an exam in half an hour and need to study. I truly believed that little movement could kill me.

I don't know what made me change my mind. Maybe it was the photo from the folder that looked at me reproachfully from the ground, the eyes of the dead man staring into my own.

"_Come on, Ruth," said his echo, "its spaghetti bolognaise tonight."_

"_Come on, Ruth, we'll be late for school."_

"_Come on, Ruth, I bet if we add more salt it'll make the coffee taste good."_

Yes, I think I could've run a whole lot more if it meant I could ignore that dead echo inside my head.

**PROLOGUE 2**

If this was a cheesy romance or b-grade movie, it would've began with either of the following; a thunder storm, or a sunrise and twittering birds to which our graceful heroine wakes up and calls to- which then lands on her fingers.

Lucky for us, this is neither.

As with many things, the story begins with a death.

The coiled-wire tail flicked absently. An odd clicking sound carried through the cool inside of the ventilation. A squeak magnified into a disquieting shriek.

A mouse rounded the corner, and scurried forward with the restless nervousness that comes to a species of prey. It stopped wisely at the vent. Blocks of fake light poured through the metal slats. There was no sound from the room below except for a muffled noise aggravatingly on the edge of hearing. Movement was undetectable.

The nose twitched.

With a click of stubby claws on the smooth metal, the brown-splodge mouse continued. It was thin, its fur was dull, but black orbs watched every shadow beadily with the vigor of a creature that wants to live, and is following an ancient instinct to avoid predators.

There was no call of "hawk", "cat" or "owl". The mouse grew bolder.

The nose twitched again, sniffing at a far off vibration that hummed like a tranquilized bee far away.

Paw after claw-topped paw it clicked its way down the ventilation shaft away from the grating. Long whiskers brushed a wall. It turned and continued. Whiskers brushed the metal again.

A sheet of cold, unyielding steel neatly sealed the vent system.

The air went bad.

A savage desperation set in. The mouse scrabbled valiantly at the cruel seal. Teeth bit and whiskers quivered. Claws were systematically blunted on the solid, shiny surface. The air got worse.

A blood vessel burst in its brain. The rodent fell to the metal casing.

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_As you can see, both are prologues. Thus, very little plot development and rather short. Next chapter will actually BE a chapter, and from there we can get some length and interest going on._

_Like it? Tell me! Hate it? Tell me how I can improve- (nicely please)_

_REVIEW!_


	2. 1 Hospital Appointment

_Sorry, it took me longer than I had expected to get this chapter ready to post, what with several things coming up._

_Master Renny- The idea I had with the prologue was to make it raise questions, questions which the main character (Ruth) would be more than likely to answer if only you could ask her! Instead, you have to wait until she obligingly lets the story slip. I hope you're a little patient! But thank you for reviewing! I'm glad to meet you! And I hope you stick with me for this story!_

_Shady- thank you, you're very kind. As I said in the email, I understand what you mean, and I hope I will write something you can follow again in the future._

_Jano- thank you for reviewing! I hope you will too!_

_Zarbok- nice to hear from you again! Thanks for the review!_

_So, to start the story for sure._

Chapter One: Hospital Appointment

"Shall we take a look at those stitches?" Doctor Scott smiled paternally, square glasses perched neatly on the bridge of his nose.

I felt my eyebrows retreat to the vicinity of my hairline- how old did he think I was, seven? - but carefully rolled up the lightweight material of my sports pants to reveal the mottled skin beneath.

In about a week of healing, some of the smaller cuts and bruises had melted away, leaving patches of lobster-pink skin. The stitches stood out almost indigo in bruised skin that was fading to green. My legs wouldn't have made me Miss Va-Va-Voom, that's for sure- and so I covered them in a light fabric to avoid awkward questions and suspicious glances.

Doctor Scotts leaned over and traced the path of the stitches gently with a forefinger. He was so completely immersed in checking the healing that I forgot to be uncomfortable or self-conscious as he was captivated by my mutilated calves.

"Well, there doesn't seem to be any infection, Amanda," he said, straightening in his chair, "but I think I'd give them a week or more to completely heal."

He smiled at me again, with perfectly white square teeth. I smiled dutifully back, staring at some point to the right of his head. I was fully aware that Amanda J Stevenson existed only as an alias- courtesy of my former employer.

"So how did you say this happened?"

"I was playing Spotlight at night with my cousins when I got caught up in a barbed wire fence." I lied.

He gave me a penetrating stare. "Ye-es. Spotlight. I used to play that as a kid myself. I even managed to fall out of a tree one time, when it was too dark to find a safe way down. It can be dangerous to play, that's for certain."

That hadn't gone very well. I moved my gaze directly onto his square-shaped face. His eyes were guarded. _Uh-oh, _I thought. He clearly spotted the pale lie and wasn't convinced at all.

A pager went off, suddenly loud in the small GP's office. He checked it quickly, and fastened it to his belt.

"I'm terrible sorry Amanda, but this is urgent. I shouldn't be longer than five minutes."

I bobbed my head. The door clicked closed. I was left alone in the navy room with only a wilting pot-plant and the computer's low hum for company.

The back of the monitor caught my eye. My fingers itched. I wanted to see just how good my 'Amanda' cover was.

I let my eyes sweep casually over the corners of the room in the remote chance they would see a security camera huddled there. There was nothing. I cocked my head and closed my eyes, listening intently to the sounds of the corridor. I could hear the far off chaos of the waiting room and reception area. No one seemed to be heading in this direction.

_Curiosity killed the cat_, I chided myself. Even as I thought it I was out of my chair and approaching the computer screen.

I sat gingerly in the hardback chair. Doctor Scotts'd had no time to lock off the files with a password. Amanda Stevenson's open file occupied the top right-hand corner of the screen. I smiled at my photographic self.

My eyes flickered over the screen. What I saw in the bottom part of the screen wiped the smile off my face; my own _real _file.

It was too much of a coincidence- Scotts knowing my true identity, hearing such a conspicuous lie and then being paged? Of course there would be hospital staff on the viral payroll! How could I have been so _stupid?!_

I stood slowly, taking deep breaths, and walked to the door. I would have to make a run for it. There was nowhere to hide in the small windowless room. As long as I was in it, I was a rat in a cage.

I opened the door inwards, half-expecting to see a top retrieval team in the corridor with guns leveled at me. Instead, a young woman had her hand stretched towards where the door handle had previously been. Her red hair was tied in a loose ponytail, but wisps had escaped the battle against the hair-tie and framed her face in a fiery halo.

"Amanda Stevenson?" asked the young woman, not missing a beat.

I nodded wordlessly, taking in her red hair, yellow t-shirt and jeans. She wasn't obviously a doctor or nurse. In fact, the only way she could be a hospital employee was if she was a youth councilor, and even then... so how did she know my alias?

"I'm Claire Redfield. I really need to talk with you, but this isn't a safe place for either of us at the moment. It's going to be difficult getting out with our lives, and I'm not being melodramatic."

I gulped. "What did you have in mind?"

She glanced down hallway. "Come with me."

I followed her hesitantly. I don't trust easily, especially not when I've just underestimated someone. She led me down about two rooms, and then ducked into an unused personal ward.

She pulled back the thin curtains over a window that badly needed painting as I closed the door, and then we both perched on the neatly made bed.

_They knew I was going to come here... they probably got alerted when I came for the stitches last week... how could I have been so _stupid

"We'll have to wait here for a bit," she explained. "A squad is in the reception area, so we can't get out on the ground floor until they leave. Unless you know a fast way to the back exit or the exit through the staffroom that we can get to without being caught?"

I shook my head. "They're bound to have them covered. Why are you helping me?"

Claire Redfield stood and opened the door a crack. "So that you might return the favor," she whispered. "Okay, they're at the GP's Office. Let's get moving; they'll check all the rooms soon."

I ducked low and ran into a side hall as fast as I could. I caught a glimpse of figures surrounding the office, but I don't think they saw me. We must have left the ward just as they realized I wasn't in the small office. Lucky break.

"Now where?" I hissed, hearing footsteps come towards us.

"To the lifts!" she mouthed.

We ran, skirting confused patients and irate nurses. I caught a glancing side blow as a door opened on my left, and hobbled on with pain lancing through my leg. The white walls were disorientating. I had to focus to keep going in the right direction, and my progress was hindered by a dragging leg.

By the time I saw the lifts empty and waiting, my run was more of a high-speed limp. I stumbled in a second later than Claire, falling against the cool inside wall. She slapped her hand against the top button of the control panel. The doors slid slowly shut.

"How're we going to get out from the top floor?" I asked.

"There should be a fire-ladder escape from the roof. The gamble is that they may have anticipated that move and have someone up there, waiting for us. Then we have to avoid them, and make a run through the staffroom to the fire door there, or surrender. There's no use being a dead hero."

_There's no use being a scientist's lab rat, either_, I mentally added. I hoped it wouldn't come to surrendering. I didn't think I would get a particularly friendly reception.

"Who's after us?" I asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"What company has gone to all this trouble- invading a hospital, public disapproval?"

She shrugged. "I didn't get a chance to see the uniform close-up."

The elevator stopped with a bobbing movement like a particularly fast set of waves. The doors slid open to reveal a normal, bustling scene. There were none of the cronies in sight.

"How do we get onto the roof?" I asked.

Miss Redfield pointed to a sign on a white door that said 'ROOF. RESTRICTED ACCESS ONLY'.

She pushed through it. I don't know what we would've done if it was locked, but I was incredibly glad I didn't have to worry about that. The maintenance staircase wasn't the most easy set of steps to climb, but at least it got us there. By the end of the climb my left leg was throbbing continuously. I was worried about the stitches but didn't dare to waste precious seconds checking them.

It was windy on the roof, and the sun was high in the sky. It seemed wrong that it was midday. I guess the fake lights of the hospital made me think it was night time or something.

It was also empty. That was good.

Claire Redfield went to the sides of the roof, where I could see a couple of thin pipes jutting out over the concrete wall. It took me a while to figure out that they were part of a ladder. I looked down the side. I didn't go all the way, but it went close enough- down onto a patio which had steps down to the ground.

It would be murder on my stitches. But as long as I wasn't murdered I didn't mind.

"After you," she said with a wry smile.

I swung my legs over the edge and grasped the rails tightly. As I lowered myself down the tenth rung I saw the dark shape leaning over the ladder.

"Claire!" I screamed.

She looked up, saw the man, and hurried down above me on the ladder. I was descending faster than should've been humanly possible, short of free falling. And she wasn't far behind. We didn't dare look either up or down, just straight ahead as our feet searched for the rung below and our hands slipped down the rails.

The view from the top had been deceiving. There was a sizeable gap between the end of the ladder and the patio- about four meters.

_Only twice a man's height,_ I thought, _you've jumped higher than this out of trees._ And then I let go.

The pain I got as my legs hit the concrete was intense and focused. I gasped at the sheer enormity of it, and then somehow managed to find the strength to roll out of the way so the Redfield girl could jump down after me.

"Get up!" she hissed worriedly, and hauled me to my feet.

I chanced a look up the ladder. The man- obviously a Viral agent- was looking down at us, still on the roof. He put a hand on the concrete wall and hoisted himself into the air.

Claire was still tugging at my hand, but I defied logic to watch his speedy decent. It seemed to me that he floated to the ground, but he landed with a heavy 'thunk'. It was then that I was snapped out of my lethargy. I began to sprint.

The other girl was only a couple of steps ahead of me. The man was close behind. He had been through years of the toughest training and had a virus lacing his blood. I couldn't compete with that, and Claire Redfield- while fit- didn't have the running endurance that gets beaten into you if you're with Umbrella or HCF.

"We can't run fast enough to get away from him," she moaned, "and short of a rocket launcher I don't think we can stop him."

"We can't _not _escape!"

"Well do you have any bright ideas?"

It could've been the end of it, right then. But for whatever reason, Lady Luck smiled on us, the fickle bitch that she is. We hurdled down the patio stairs, powered by wings of terror, and a black jeep pulled up, one of the ones with the tray on the back.

Claire got to it first, ripped open the door and threw herself in the cab. I followed suit, sprawling over her and the dashboard, somehow managing to keep enough sense to close the door. The driver shoved the engine into first and we screamed away.

I righted myself in the seat and peered through the back window. The patio was empty. We were just passing the main entrance, which was a cacophony of indignation and chaos. I was glad I wasn't sick or employed there.

"Good timing," Claire breathed.

"You're welcome," the driver said. "I'm Chris Redfield, by the way. Claire's brother."

"Hi," I gasped. "Thanks for coming to the rescue."

Chris flashed a fleeting smile before focusing back on the road.

"You're incredibly lucky they haven't set up a perimeter. What happened in there?" he asked his sister.

"I went in, just as we'd planned, and I noticed there were all these UBSC-type guys, so I thought I'd better make like a hockey player and get the puck out of there. So I found Amanda, and we high-tailed it to the roof, skimmed down the ladder and met you. There's just one thing that bothers me," Claire concluded, biting her lip worriedly.

I carefully rolled up my trouser-legs. My left leg was smeared with blood. As soon as I saw it I became aware of just how much it throbbed. Obviously I did more than a little bit of damage.

'Which is?"

"Wesker was there, he was the one chasing us down the steps."

Chris's eyes flickered automatically to the rear-view mirrors. "Where did he go? He could have easily caught you before you go to the car!"

The Redfield duo looked anxiously through the windows and mirrors, as if expecting to see Wesker keeping pace with them.

Of course, there was nothing to see. Doctor Wesker could only keep up incredibly fast speeds for limited amounts of time. And I had a sinking suspicion I knew what their former boss was up to.

About half an hour into the drive, I turned in my seat and looked into the tray of the vehicle. Wesker was sitting comfortably in the back. He raised one gloved finger to his lips and smirked.

I blinked to clear the mirage from my vision. It remained crystal clear. I turned away slowly, looking out the windscreen.

"Where exactly did you say we where going?" I asked, trying to remain casual.

"To the headquarters," Chris replied, "out of the city on the way to Brighton."

_So somewhere remote, then? Oh goody. Wesker's going to kill us._

"I hate to be the one to rain on your parade..." I began.

The siblings turned slightly to look at me. I took a deep breath and continued. "But I think I know why Wesker didn't catch up with us when we were running to the door. He's in the tray."

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_So what did you think? A couple more unanswered questions perhaps?_

_Please Review! I'll luv ya for life!_


	3. 2 Hitchhiker

_Sorry this took so long- I've been away on holiday. I swear I won't return to my old ways of taking almost a month to get a chapter up. Next one should be up in a couple of days, depending on what life has in store for me._

_I saw the RE Apocalypse movie. Could've been worse, but could've been a lot better. However, now I know what I have to tie in ever-so-briefly in this story. So don't worry if you haven't seen it, Sych is ready to explain in a way that won't wreck the movie for you._

_Diamond King- thank you! I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long._

_Shady-munches cookie aha, I like suspense. But I do go on suspense overkill. But if I told you the entire story in the first chapter, it wouldn't be very interesting, would it? I'm glad you gave this story another chance too . Until next time._

_Ste- thank you for your review! Even though it takes me ages to update, never fear. I intend to see this story the whole way through._

_Zarbok- thank you! Yeah, I always knew Wesker was too cheap to hire a taxi._

Chapter Two:

To his credit, Chris didn't start wildly swerving as I feared he might- an understandable action that would have had the adverse affect of sending the younger Redfield through the windscreen. He didn't even glance back to check Wesker was there.

He just assumed I wouldn't lie about something like that. He trusted me? A complete stranger?

I did notice, however, that his knuckles turned white in a vice-like grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he thought it was his ticket to salvation.

"What is he waiting for?" Chris muttered tersely.

A valid question. I guessed it was so Wesker could be led to the headquarters of the Redfield's organization. As far as I knew, theirs was the only agency that was fully aware of HCF and their agenda. There was a lot HCF would do for permanent silence.

"Strategical move?" I ventured.

"Wesker hates us," was the flat reply, "Passionately. Logic and strategy have no chance against his blinding hatred."

"Obviously money does."

"Must be one hell of a lot of money."

_Trust me, HCF can afford it._

Claire interrupted before I could retort. I wasn't at my best. Feeling edgy and pained and knowing there's someone in the back after your blood can do that to you.

"What are we going to do? We stop, he kills us. We continue, he kills us anyway. I see no solution either way."

"Well," Chris began, "he can probably hear us, thanks to that super-virus of his. So a surprise plan is out."

"We don't have many choices," I agreed. It was getting so hard to avoid hyperventilation that I felt like my seatbelt was trying to suffocate me. I had seen what Doctor Wesker was capable of doing.

_Cool, calm, collected. Cool, calm collected. Not gasping, not even worried. Something wrong in the world? Nosiree._

"We don't have any choices, period," Claire corrected. "We can't lead him to HQ. He'd wipe out the entire group before they even knew he was there."

"So you want me to pull over, and calmly accuse Wesker of hitchhiking?" Chris asked incredulously.

There was a reflective pause while everyone pondered out how that would go. The scenario for me ended in dismembered body parts decorating the highway.

"Well, what else can we do?" Claire demanded, slightly defensively.

"You're right, we don't have a choice. I just wish we did."

Chris took a deep breath, said 'okay' lowly, and maneuvered the jeep into the long grass at the side of the road.

I wanted to scream, shout and throw the biggest tantrum. I didn't want to be a martyr! I should've felt guilty that two strangers would die for trying to help me, but selfishly all I wanted to do was to throw them at Wesker and run while he was preoccupied.

Okay, so I'm a coward. But at least I'm honest.

There was an apprehensive silence in which I convinced my unresponsive fingers to release the safety catch on my seatbelt.

I was the closest to the passenger door. I could feel their eyes on me, judging me up, wondering if I would have the guts to open it. My hand lingered for a split second on the polished surface, and then peer pressure more than anything else swayed my hand.

I let the door swing out, propelled by its own weight, and then scurried after it.

My feet hit the tussock. The smell of the wild-grasses in the height of summer hit my senses. It reminded me of playing as a young girl in the fields.

Feeling numbed- or maybe a little more comfortable- I stalked towards the tray of the jeep. Well, I wanted it to be a stalk. It was really more of a hobble, because more bloody left leg had seized up in the jeep.

And then Wesker vaulted over the side of the tray.

All my thoughts likening the situation to a movie vanished. I was prepared to dart into the rushes again.

Chris was on the other side of the vehicle, leveling some sort of gun at Wesker. I couldn't even tell what type it was- that's how badly I was reacting under the pressure.

_What the hell is he thinking? It would be more use to go after Doctor Wesker with a fly-swat! _

Claire appeared at my shoulder. "What do you want?" she demanded.

_Wow, _I thought, _two seconds away from doom and still giving sass. The girl either has spunk, confidence or insanity._

Wesker leaned casually against the side of the jeep and flatly ignored her. "You reek of blood," he directed at me. "You should really get someone to look at those stitches."

"Your concern is touching," I replied, trying to sound as confident as Claire. In reality I probably sounded like a trod-on rodent.

"What do you want?" Claire repeated.

"There is much I want. I do want a meeting with Mister Williams."

"Well, you're not going to get one," Chris replied evenly.

"Would it appease you to know I have an appointment?"

"No," the man said.

"You're so polite," Wesker commented. "Nonetheless, I wouldn't want to cancel an appointment."

"Why would Williams want to see you?" asked Claire.

"We have much to discuss."

"Care to elaborate?"

The blonde man smirked again. "No."

Well, this was one weird conversation. Wesker was the only person who wasn't tensed like a coiled spring. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the whole scenario. Figures, he always was twisted. He was probably also earning a lot of money to bait his enemies.

He held all the aces. I possibly had the four of clubs. I had no idea who this 'Williams' fellow was, so I had less than a third of the stand-off understood. There were three main questions- who is Williams, why did everything happen at the hospital, and what have I got to do with it? No one was in any position to answer. It was going to get aggravating quick.

"Well, this _has _been fun," said Wesker. "But it gets a bit drafty in the back, so when we start off again I'll be driving."

"Really," Chris muttered.

"Now, Mister Redfield, do you really want to take that attitude? That gun won't do much damage against me."

"I would rather not take you to my boss."

"Boss? And he didn't even ask me for a reference." Wesker's voice stopped being jovial and turned hard. "Chris, you'll be doing what I say because I am the one who can deal massive amounts of damage, and you are the one armed with a popgun. You'll also appreciate I didn't kill either of the whelps- and believe me, not killing you now is a real struggle for self control- so give it a break, hmm? And you can either drive with me sitting there, or you can be the one with no distractions."

"I don't trust you."

"Good."

Wesker calmly walked past Chris Redfield, pushing the gun muzzle away as he did so. I was completely flabbergasted- what had just happened? Shouldn't Chris have fired or something, or simply refused to take Wesker anywhere?

"What the hell are you doing?" Claire hissed, obviously as confused as me but more adamant about it.

"Wesker wants something," Chris whispered, "and I want to find out what. Besides, the fact that he offered to drive and knows Williams by name says he knows a lot about us, and where we meet. Better to get out while he's being disturbingly decent and we still have our lives."

"In case he swings past your HQ later, uninvited and irate?" I asked, realization beginning to dawn.

"Exactly."

Claire took a fair bit of convincing, not that I blamed her. After all, they'd been through a lot and couldn't be expected to be comfortable about jumping in a car with their worst enemy. I wasn't too thrilled about it either. Hadn't I burst my stitches avoiding Wesker in the hospital?

Oh yes, that had been me. Hurt like hell, too.

We got reluctantly into the jeep. Claire sat in the passenger seat, I sat behind her and Chris was behind Wesker, where a well placed bullet could cause severe damage to the driver's head.

I tried to get inside that head. I entertained the idea that he might drive us into an ambush, but for some reason that didn't seem right. I also tried to figure out why he bothered the Redfields- he could easily have talked to this 'Williams' person without them ever knowing.

Very intriguing.

I'd have to find someone to ask.

"You led Umbrella on a merry chase back at the hospital," said Wesker casually, "they're probably still looking for you. Amateurs."

"Umbrella?" I blurted, "not HCF?"

He sniffed. "HCF is more efficient than _that._ Do you really think any team of mine wouldn't establish a perimeter around the hospital? Did you think that I would allow them to leave prime exits open?"

"They're probably too worried about having their heads ripped off to be disobedient," Claire muttered.

"Exactly. Nothing wrong with that. Well, I _thought _HCF was more efficient than that... but if that's true, how did Umbrella know you were there?"

Chris frowned beside me. "There must be a mole," he admitted, even though it was obvious he didn't want to say anything to Wesker. "We'd only decided to go there this morning."

"So egotistical, Redfield. I was directing my question to Ruth."

"Ruth?" was Chris' murmuring echo. He went rigid with suspicion. "I thought you said your name was Amanda?"

"I never said that," I muttered uncomfortably.

"Amanda Stevenson is Ruth's alias," Wesker said. I could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice at having caught his enemy out. "Didn't you know when you went to get her?"

I cut in over him. "Why did you come to get me, anyway?"

"The files," Claire replied flatly.

"Ah yes," Wesker commented. "The files have been the cause of this merry song and dance. I myself was sent to make sure Umbrella's bungling hands didn't take them off you before I go see Mister Williams. HCF is still very interested in that unauthorized mission, and also by how you strangely disappeared after it."

I made no move to answer.

_What I'm really interested in is why you're casually spouting secrets to your two most hated enemies. I guess whatever you have planned means you don't have to worry about keeping secrets to them anymore._

It didn't look good for anyone's future.

The click of the indicator shook me back. I looked away from Wesker's head to check the place out. It was Spencer Park, a place close enough to have the sea's roar in the background and was on the edge of a pine forest. It was also crowded with people, even in the midmorning.

Not the place I would expect for a secret base.

At the edge of the park, quite a distance from the road, was a gravel driveway leading to a modern farmhouse. A few cars were already neatly parked at the door. A sheep blinked at us as Wesker drove past.

Chris was out before the vehicle had stopped moving. He stumbled as he hit the ground, tripped, but got up almost immediately and hurtled to the house. He was yelling enough to drown out the noise of a carnival.

I watched his retreating back as he ran through the front door, and then, urged by some survival instinct, my eyes snapped onto Wesker.

He seemed unworried by the fact that he was entering his enemies' headquarters and didn't even have the element of surprise. He calmly parked in the shade of a stunted magnolia, left the keys in the ignition and approached the house.

Was I supposed to follow?

I glanced towards Claire and was mildly surprised to see her regarding me with suspicion.

_She only tried to rescue Amanda. She'd let Ruth burn._

Cheery. It was thoughts like that which made me wonder if there was a possibility I had multiple personalities; Amanda, Ruth and Narrator. But thinking about that sort of thing generally ended in a headache and made me feel worried for the rest of the day.

Well, I still owed Claire for 'Amanda's' rescue, and Wesker didn't appear to be trying to kill me at the moment, so my mind was really made up for me.

I quickly leaned around the driver's headrest, hooking the keyring with my fingers. The key came out easily. I pocketed it, cursed peer pressure and the world in general, and limped towards the house.

_Ten bucks says you'll get there and then wish you'd stayed behind._

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	4. 3 Tense Meeting

_Ugh, I'm so sorry! I had this chapter finished when I posted the last one! My exams are almost over, then I should be able to devote more time to writing, I swear. I blame my internet connection!_

_Diamond King Hey! I'm glad you like my other story, now I'll love you always!!! XP I had until this chapter to link it with Brideswell, but no. Jill was my turning point- I couldn't fit her virused state into this story. But who knows, I'll possibly write a stand alone sequel to it eventually. Yeah, by chapter five things should be clear._

_Zarbok- thanks! I hope you're enjoying this story so far._

_The unknown reviewer- thank you for reviewing!_

_Okay, this story is set in New Zealand because I wanted to try using a real setting. But trust me, I can weave the setting into the story plot-line easily. Just remember, we drive on the left side of the road. If things don't begin to clear up from now on out, tell me in a review or email and I will try to remedy things._

Chapter Three:

The first thing I noticed was that the inside of the farmhouse was cooler than the outside air. I had to wait before I could notice anything else; it took a while for my eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light, and so I stood there blinking oafishly, listening.

There wasn't much to hear. It seemed whoever had been there to get Chris's warning shout had gone into hiding. It was like being in a horror movie, except that _I _was the one creeping about.

I took a step further into the heart of the house. The floors were wood, the walls wooden panels. I felt like I had entered some sort of upper-class log cabin. But the house was comfortable- as are most of the old renovated farmhouses.

_Where did Claire disappear off to?_

I hadn't been that far behind her, had I?

I took another few steps, cringing as my shoes scuffed against the polished surface. There were paintings of country scenes on the walls, hanging in gilded frames. It was a beautifully kept house. The smell of summer grasses was thick in the air.

_Lucky I don't have hay fever._

I rounded the corner into an empty corridor with stairs at one end, the type with a banister fencing them off at the top. A few seconds later and a step groaned as it was subjected to my weight.

The upstairs wasn't wooden. It had breezy cream walls, with dusky red carpet. It was much more lived in. I guess this place doubled for a home and headquarters. Gone were the landscapes on the walls, replaced by small coffee tables with lively pot plants and photographs.

I walked through the open door to my right, listening to the unnatural stillness. Unnatural- like someone was trying to be quiet; making the place quieter than it would be if it was empty. Maybe that's hard to comprehend, but that's what it was like. After all, I'm _so_ psychic.

When I was in the middle of the bedroom, I turned back towards the door. A woman, who I would guess was in her twenties, was standing behind the open door. She wasn't armed, but she didn't look worried.

Well, I wasn't armed either. And I guess I didn't look like I presented much of a threat.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Amanda Stevenson." The lie came easily to me, as it had so many times before.

"Claire got you okay?"

I didn't bother to reply.

"I'm Jill. I don't know exactly what's going on at the moment, but I do know that one of our worst enemies is here with us. Be careful, he won't hesitate to kill you, even though you aren't one of us."

"I don't know what's going on either," I said. "But Wesker said he wanted to talk to somebody called 'Williams'."

She looked at me oddly. "How do you know Wesker's name?"

I hadn't expected that. I thought she would have been distracted by the message. Well, let's be truthful, I hadn't even _thought._ Another slip up. That made it two today. I hoped there wouldn't be a third.

"I heard it from the Redfield pair."

That seemed to go. "Well, I don't know if Wesker wants to talk to Williams or not, but either way we have to get out of here. Even if no one is hurt this time round, if HCF knows where we are, HCF will get rid of us later."

She turned and exited the room. I followed her with admiration. This Jill was pretty clued up. Together, we checked the top floor. It was completely devoid of people, but Jill took a bag and pushed some files into it.

As we were going quietly and slowly down the stairs, I asked in a whisper, "Where are we going to go?"

"Anywhere seems good at the moment. Better go bush for a day or two, and see if we can find any of the others. I can't believe we didn't have an emergency plan for this sort of thing!"

She said 'thing' louder than the rest of the sentence, accenting it by grabbing onto my upper arm. I peered around her slender frame and saw why.

_Can that man have any worse timing?_

Wesker didn't waste any time. "Where is Mr. Williams?"

"He's not here," Jill hissed.

"You're lying. Where is he?"

"Albert Wethker! Tho good to thee you."

I looked in the direction of the new lisping voice. It belonged to a grey haired gentleman wearing a tan suit, probably about fifty years old, who had the look of a disreputable, charitable aristocrat- you know the type, only helping an animal rights cause as a hobby while wearing mink to outings and owning several pens of battery hens.

"Ah, Mr. Williams. I was wondering where you had got to."

Williams waved a pale hand dismissively. "Thingth hold uth up, but here we are now. Letth get down to buithneth."

I mentally inserted 's's into the sentence.

"Certainly," Wesker replied, "Where should we go?"

"Jutht in here will be fine," said Williams, gesturing to a pair of wooden double doors. "Thould I call the retht of the group?"

"If you think it would be beneficial."

"Mith Valentine! Go gather the otherth, if you would be tho kind."

The woman left stiffly. I could feel confusion and resentment radiating off her, and yet she obeyed. If I had been in her position, I would've refused. But I guess she had a lot more faith in the man than I did.

"And you mutht be Amanda," Williams said, offering me a hand to shake, "I'm Jonathon Williamth."

I took it, mumbling a "pleased to meet you." His hand was uncannily cold, like he lived in a morgue. I let it go quickly, and hunched my shoulders awkwardly.

"Well, into the lounge, everyone."

I followed Wesker and Williams hesitantly. The room –yes, still wooden walls and floors- had several plush white leather couches and armchairs. I perched on the edge of one, still feeling out of place. The men ignored my presence completely, and seemed much more at home.

_And I still don't know what the hell is going on. Why is everyone so... so... tense? So trusting and distrustful? Something big must be happening... Why am I here?_

Far off sounds of footsteps and disgruntled murmurs became less far-off. The double doors were pushed open by Jill. With her were the Redfields and a man I didn't know. None of them looked particularly happy about being there. All were armed.

The new man regarded me with the same deep suspicion as Chris and Claire, and now Jill. I guess they had been talking about me one the way. But most of their attention was saved for Doctor Wesker- I was just a side-dish of HCF.

"Pleathe, take a theat," Williams said. Well, even though it sounded like a suggestion it was unmistakeably an order. The newcomers sat, and glowered.

"Now, all of you know Wethker. He'th come at my behetht to-"

"What?" Chris exploded. "You _asked _him to come here? Now HCF will know all about us!"

"Chrith," replied Williams blithely, "HCF hath _alwayth _known about uth. It'th the one paying AVO'th thalary."

_AVO? Of course, Anti-Viral Organization. Extremely original. But HCF was funding it? How did THAT one work? I really should've read those files, and then I might know what all of this is about._

The AVO's looked at their leader dumbfounded. I could see the protests going through their minds- in fact, they were going through mine too. Only it didn't really affect me.

"Mr. Williams received orders from HCF," Wesker took over. His voice was crisp and authoritative. "These orders were to find a girl going by the name 'Amanda Stevenson', and to acquire the files in her possession. You have done half of that order. I had to step in when I saw Umbrella prepared to attack at the hospital."

"Why does everyone care about these files so much?" Jill asked, evidently shelving her distrust and hatred. "What's in them?"

"The fileth are the property of Umbrella. The information ith... clathified, but very important."

"You sold us out," Chris growled. "We were supposed to be working against _all _viral agencies. And all the time, we were working for one of them."

"Technically HCF isn't a viral company," I piped up. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at me. "It's a-" A pair of shades turned to look at me. I shut up.

Wesker smirked, and turned back round. I decided that biting my tongue for the rest of the meeting would be a good course of action.

"So what's going to happen now?" Jill asked. She was obviously the most well-controlled of the group. Chris was highly peeved, and Claire and the other man were too angry to really speak.

I tried to imagine what it was like to find out you were working for your hated enemy- an enemy that had killed your friends, workmates, family, town. It is impossible, unless you've been there.

"Now? We're jutht going to go on like we alwayth have," Williams said. "Following the orderth given to uth, only now you know who they are from."

"And if we refuse to follow those orders?"

"Then, Chris, you will have to answer to HCF's representative, who at this time happens to be... me." Wesker smiled. There was no humour in it.

The four who had been misled up until now didn't look at all cheered by this news. Not that I could blame them.

"Do you have the fileth?" Williams asked me.

I looked at him, thinking him touched in the head. I had been at the hospital! In really casual clothes! "No."

"Where are they?"

"They're at a school."

"A thchool? Anyone could find them!"

"Why would you search for top secret files belonging to an agency like Umbrella at a high school?" I countered sourly. I had a strong impression that I wouldn't be getting out of this mess for a long time.

_So what is this mess? HCF runs this little AVO agency. I stole files from Umbrella. Both HCF and Umbrella want them. And HCF has me. I _KNEW _I should've read all of the damn files! But anyway... I doubt Wesker will be letting me vanish again._

"Good point."

"I have a question," Claire said suddenly, "who are you, really?"

Wesker answered for me, with a general air of irritation. I didn't know if I should be grateful to him or not. "As I have already covered, her alias is Amanda Stevenson and her real name is Ruth. She's been working for HCF for about four years now, including training, until she strangely and suddenly disappeared a week ago."

_That still didn't tell them anything new._

"Ruth?" Jill asked. "Ruth who?"

Wesker glanced at me, signifying wordlessly that I could answer this one.

"I don't use a surname," I said evenly. I know what people think when they hear that- that I'm an orphan, never knowing who my real parents are. It's not true. I know who my parents are, but I can't bring myself to use their name anymore. I don't know what's so weird; people like Wesker deny all knowledge of their first names. Then again, I would too if _I_ was called 'Albert'.

They stared at me for a second, before turning back to Williams and Wesker.

"You know," the one man whose name I didn't know said, "this is the second time I've had a boss betray us while secretly working for a viral company."

"Seems to be a trend, doesn't it?" Wesker goaded.

At the same time Williams began, "Barry, I haven't betrayed you. I haven't gotten you into trouble, or harmed you in any way. I jutht haven't told you who the orderth came from becauthe I knew you would react thith way!"

"That _is _betrayal," the man, Barry, spat back.

"HCF doesn't have time for this," said Wesker boredly. "Take Ruth to find those files before Umbrella gets their hands on them or bored math teachers play hangman on the back of them."

"Why would we do that for you?" Chris hissed.

"Because otherwise I will have to do it myself, which would make you useless dead-weight. And HCF has a way of getting rid of dead-weight. Williams and I still have much to discuss. On your way."

They got up slowly.

_Bugger this, _I thought, _it's my one chance to get out of here with my skin intact. And I'll be buggered if I'll do HCF's work for them again._

The keys rattled comfortingly in my pocket. Using all my self restraint, I nodded at Wesker and Williams, walked calmly out of the room and down the corridor. When I was certain they couldn't hear me- well, maybe Wesker could still hear me, but I didn't think of that at the time- I made a mad dash that was hindered (but only slightly, now) by the stitches, a give-all-take-all sprint to the jeep.

Chris overtook me, running to the jeep's left-hand side and jumping in. I continued unfazed to the right side.

"Damn," he said quietly, staring at the complete absence of steering wheel, "I keep forgetting this country drives on the other side."

I slipped the key into the ignition. The engine started almost automatically, smooth as an HCF agent's lie. I saw the other three AVO's running towards the jeep, and tried to hide my disappointment.

For a moment there, I really thought I would be able to steal the jeep and 'disappear' again. I'd have to keep my eye out for the next opportunity.

I waited until the last person- Claire- was sitting in the backseat. Then I took off, like the hounds of hell were at the tow bar.

"You can drive?"

"I'm over fifteen."

Chris looked confused. "What sort of answer is that?"

"Officer Redfield," came a deep voice behind me with hints of sarcasm, "here you can drive if you're fifteen."

Chris blanched visibly as I almost swiped a parked car on his side. "I think that's very irresponsible."

"Naw," I replied noncommittally, "I'm just a bad driver. Five years later and I still can't drive."

"Hang on," Claire said, suspicions hidden for now, "you're _twenty?_ Jeez! I thought you were, uh... twelve?"

"Ha ha," I grumbled, steering the jeep through the gate and into Spencer Park. People always thought I was younger than I was. It could get very humiliating.

"Uh, do you think it would be better if I drove?" Jill volunteered, almost hugging her backpack. "Not that I doubt your ability or anything, but..." she trailed off, understandably. She, of course, _did _doubt my ability.

"No, I'm good thanks," I replied, being a jerk. "Besides, I'm the only one who knows where we're going."

"Would you care to share that information?"

"Not really, no."

_It pays to be indispensable. _

They didn't like that answer. I can't say I blamed them- it must've been like Wesker was driving them somewhere all over again. But I wanted to have some control for once. And I still didn't trust them, probably because they didn't trust me.

"What were you saying before?" Jill asked, masking her curiosity. "About HCF not really being a viral company?"

We pulled onto the highway and I accelerated to fit the speed limit.

"Well, I don't know if I should tell you..." I thought of Wesker, "but to hell with it. It's a fitness organization."

"Fitness? Like, a gym?"

"Haven't you ever heard of Harold Corwin Fitness?"

"No," Jill replied.

"I have," Claire piped up. "But only since we came here. In America there wasn't any Harold Corwin, just HCF. Must be a New Zealand strain."

"That seems ludicrous," Barry objected. "Why would a fitness company be interested with bio-weaponry?"

"That I couldn't tell you. But it's clever- no one can associate Harold Corwin with HCF, especially because there isn't any Harold Corwin Fitness in countries where there is HCF. They've covered their tracks. The work they do is HCF's, but they are employed by Corwin."

Jill said, "That is clever. No one will click. No one will try to find out. But if someone does, it will find that HCF doesn't really exist as a company."

"They'll find it does after a lot of digging," I corrected, "but HCF is banking on no one finding out."

"This is very confusing," Chris muttered.

_Yeah. It took me a couple of hours to understand their reasoning. I guess our minds just don't work the same way as mad scientists. Maybe that's a good thing?_

"Okay," I said, trying to remember how I got my head around it the first time. "In America, there is HCF, but no Harold Corwin Fitness. You with me so far?"

"Yeah."

"And in New Zealand, there is no HCF, but there is Harold Corwin Fitness."

"Okay."

"So no-one in America knows Harold Corwin Fitness exists, and in New Zealand, no one knows HCF exists."

"So no one can track them down? No one even thinks to..." said Chris. "And if something went wrong in New Zealand... a small island country, far away from major countries with poor armed forces and little public interest in the government... easily contained. The some reasons why Umbrella came here... why we had to follow to try and find out what they were up to...."

The road was busy, by Spencerville standards. That is to say, there were only about three cars. We traveled through the marshlands in a tense silence. The others stared out the windows at the grasses and water, lost in their own thoughts.

I had to focus on driving. My driving isn't _that _bad, but I didn't want to end up explaining how I managed to hit one car on an almost empty road.

It was Tuesday, about ten thirty in the morning. _Too much has happened for a Tuesday morning. _It meant the school would be open. I wondered if my arrival would cause too much of a stir. Probably not. It would be the AVO's that would be the problem.

"You're sure the files are safe?" Barry asked gruffly.

"Yeah. No one would go to the trouble of finding them. At least, I don't think they would. They have only been there for a week."

"What's in them?"

"I don't know. I never read them. I was planning to, but I was going to sell them to group in America and use the money to build myself a fortress away from all this insanity. Although, if it's spread into countries as remote as this, I doubt there's anywhere that's uninfected by Umbrella and HCF."

"So you have no idea what we're getting?"

"I know some of them are personnel files," I said defensively. "But I was more worried about stashing them before someone found them... and pinned it on me."

"How do you think Umbrella and HCF knew it was you who took the files?"

_What is this, twenty questions? _Talking to Barry was like being interrogated.

"I don't know."

"You don't know much, do you?" Claire commented.

I shrugged uncomfortably, trying to ignore the scathing comment. She was right, I didn't know much, but I knew a damn lot more than she did. I had spent four years with HCF, what had she done?

Jill cut in quickly. I saw her glance at me cautiously in the rear view mirror. "Let's talk about everything when we've got these files, kay? We can find somewhere out of the way to sit down and talk. It'll be much more comfortable, that's for sure."

_She _is _clued-up! Who knows what might happen if you offend an already reckless driver, anyway? I guess she's the reason AVO made it this far... the others can't seem to control their emotions._

I nodded curtly. "We'll be at the school soon."

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	5. 4 Retrieval

I re-emerge from post-exam trauma for a week before plunging back into it. I also now have two jobs to work, so even though the next chapter is dissected and on the surgery table, it might not leave the operating table for another week and a half. (How's that for blatant use of an over extended metaphor, hey?)

Zarbok- thank you! I'm glad you could understand my reasoning. I wanted to find out some reason that there was no mention at all of HCF until Code Veronica... so I made one up. Let's see how it turns out.

CassSpaz- thank you, both for your review and your kind words!

Chapter Four:

The rest of the drive across town went uneventfully. The streets were surprisingly busy for the middle of a Tuesday morning, but by half-past eleven the jeep was chugging gently at the intersection of Greers Road and Memorial Ave, the left indicator blinking noisily. On the other side of the intersection was the school where the files had been hidden, fenced off by what reminded me of prison-bars.

"Is that the school?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, that's the place. Burnside High School."

I heard a muffled whimper in the back from Claire, and saw Barry grasp her shoulder firmly like she was his daughter. I labeled this as a 'buck up, champ' gesture, and shook it off as an attack of nerves on the other girl's part –(even though infiltrating a school couldn't possibly be the scariest thing she'd faced). Maybe the bravado she had used against Wesker had been all used up.

The AVO's subjected the school to a speculative gaze. It had large grounds, and was, indeed, a place where you could lose yourself, let alone a couple of files.

The traffic lights finally turned green, and I swung the steering wheel to the left in a lazy semi-circle, driving down Memorial Ave. I had concluded that parking on the wide street would draw less attention than stopping right by a classroom full of bored math's students.

"Do you think we can get in there without being asked anything?" said Barry.

"Claire and I will probably pass for seniors. You lot will just pass as teachers in the eyes of the students. There are a lot of people in the school- there's always someone that somebody doesn't know."

The three oldest AVO's exchanged dubious glances around the seats.

"You and Claire go in," Barry said finally. "We don't want to be the focus of any unnecessary attention. It doesn't sound like there's much risk. If the files aren't there..."

"They'll be there," I said reassuringly.

He nodded. "Just in and out?"

"Yeah. No problem."

The Redfield girl bobbed her head wordlessly and slipped out of the jeep. I watched her through the window as she darted through the traffic to stand on the grassy island in the middle of the road. Unbidden, a frown deepened my forehead.

I took the keys from the ignition, feeling the reassuring warmth of the soft metal, which reminded me oddly of shaking the hand of an old friend. I sighed, and passed the keys to Chris as a sign of good faith.

"Thanks."

I smiled distractedly, and scurried through the cars to catch up with Claire. She already half-way down the driveway, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, her head down and her shoulders square, all angles. I fell into step beside her and kept the silence.

This entrance wasn't a main one, nor was the carpark the biggest, but it was convenient for our needs. Soon we crunched over the gravel of the carpark, stepping into a squat building the housed the music department. The centre of the building was an outside courtyard, fenced off by walls of glass which gave the place an aquarium feel. A frieze of awards lined one wooden wall. A tinkling of scales played on a variety of instruments tinkled through the warm corridors.

"So, these files. They gonna be easy to find?"

It was the first thing Claire had said to me in an even tone since finding out that I worked for HCF.

"Should be. There're in F Block. It's not far."

There was an awkward pause in which Claire checked and double-checked the condition of her nails.

"So, can I trust you then?"

"With what?"

"Can I trust you not to sell me out to HCF, or to Wesker, or to Umbrella? Can I trust you not to try to kill me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think you can."

There was no reply. She shivered, moving her hand from nail-inspection to brushing at escapee wisps of hair. "This place gives me the creeps. Where's F Block from here?"

"Easier to show you."

"Then lead on, MacDuff."

I kept my quizzical look to myself, pushing through the double doors to be on a covered walkway, what the ancient Greeks would have called a stoa. The buildings that loomed around us all had the same layout, design and blue-white paint scheme. While I led Claire through the maze, we passed two of these buildings, a scraggly horticulture plot and the library on our journey to get the files.

I shoved my way through another pair of double doors, this time bearing the letter 'F". The inside was cool and gloomy. A blue floor ran down the middle, lined with rows of neat, brown, box-like lockers. I knew which locker the files were in by sight and location alone. No doubt it seemed risky to Claire and the others, but to me it was the obvious place. As I had been told, if you want to hide a leaf, put it in a forest. There the files would be as safe as they could possible be.

"Are the files in one of the lockers?"

"Yes," I said, edging past the open door of a classroom. I caught a snippet of the lesson:

"..are pathogens, so they can only live in a living host. However, viruses can be made dormant. Viruses are also unique in that..."

_Interesting lesson. I wonder if they'd want my knowledgeable input?_

I made a bit of noise opening the locker, which set my nerves on edge. It wasn't helped by the fact that I was struck by the notion they wouldn't be there at all, that all I would find was emptiness. It became almost a certainty, and I didn't want to open the locker in case it was true. Eventually, Claire was struck by impatience and did it herself.

Over her shoulder, I saw a pink cover-slip bulging with a stack of papers. Breathing a sigh of relief, I reached over and grabbed it, hugging it like it was an old friend. Claire swung the door closed.

"Pink?" she asked, raising a dubious eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you two be in class?"

This new imperious voice belonged to the teacher who had been giving the lesson on viruses. She had a scraggly mop of white hair, cut short, and wore unremarkable clothes that hung limply on her bony frame. She was quite short but made up height for ferocity and a 'more-intellectual-than-thou' expression. Her beady eyes roamed over our faces, sunken under a brow that was lined by years of authoritative arrogance. I saw in her all the teachers I had ever hated or feared boiled together and then strained to form this container of horrible-witch-of-a-teacher-extraodinaire.

"Free period," answered Claire quickly.

The teacher mulled this over slowly, turning it over in her mind for any flaw that would give her an excuse to land us in detention.

_You can't argue with a timetable. You don't have anything against us._

It suddenly struck me that even if she decided to _expel_ us it wouldn't make any difference to our lives. We didn't go to this school. This thought strengthened me as I faced the human harpy, an apparition that could possibly even strike fear into Wesker's non-existent heart.

Slowly, so slowly, I was beginning to be sick of cowering and running away.

"That's no reason to be creating disturbances in the corridors. Other people are putting their free periods to good use, and classes are still trying to learn, you know. It's not easy teaching fourth formers when someone's creating a racket in the hallway. Show some respect for other people." Even her voice sounded like nails being brought down against the blackboard she lived by.

_Good grief, all I've done is open a locker!_

"We weren't trying to," I said.

"Then maybe you should be more careful, and learn to be more quiet."

_Maybe you could learn to keep your classroom door shut and open the windows instead. _

"We're terribly sorry," said Claire, "but as Amanda now has her English assignment, we'll be getting back to the library so we can make the most of the remaining hour, and let you get back to teaching your class in peace."

"Amanda, eh?" She gave me a penetrating stare, burning my face into her memory. The feeling of her eyes on me made me vaguely repulsed. "I'll remember the name. And who are you?"

"Claire R- Richards."

"I shall remember that also, Claire."

It seemed the conversation was over, and the interfering teacher wasn't inclined to say anything more. I edged past her stiff, unmoving form. As I turned to go through the exit, I glanced back at her. She was looking after us haughtily, with an expression that could convince ice to spontaneously combust, but it wasn't this sour look that caught my eye. Oh no, it was the black box that her loose purple t-shirt was caught up on.

Let the camera of the mind's eye zoom down the dark, cold corridor to that black box nestled on a boney hip between loose jeans and a baggier t-shirt. Let is see the white and red sectioned octagon that by now has become depressingly familiar. Let the mind now realize on its own accord that the little black box is indeed an Umbrella radio.

"Let's get out of here," I muttered.

"Agreed."

It required little effort from me to navigate the maze-like layout of the school. I didn't mention the radio to Claire. Maybe it wasn't an octagon at all. Maybe it was just a trick of the light or something. After all, what business did Umbrella have at a school? No, she was just some dragon of a teacher that enjoyed terrifying all students.

It probably had been all a figment of my over-active imagination anyway.

Another stupid, stupid mistake on my part. How many times had I been told to report anything peculiar?

As we were about to exit the sunny music block and make our way to the jeep on Memorial Ave, I saw a trio of black guards at the gates. The gates had been closed. I pulled Claire around the corner instead of leaving the building, down a small side corridor alive with Bach and scales, into a small room furnished only with a piano.

"Umbrella," Claire seethed. She thumped the wall opposite from the door in irritation. "How in hell did they know?"

"That teacher," I said, thinking aloud. "She must have recognized me, or something, as we went past the classroom to get the files. She must've put a call through and then come to distract us for as long as possible so that Umbrella could put guards on the gates to stop us from leaving."

"Umbrella must work damn quick, then. I _knew _science teachers were evil!"

I re-thought about the teacher's purpose at the school. "She must have been working here to pick up students with promise... students who could be potential assets for Umbrella and go to the training facilities... but that's insane. You can't pick out future mad scientists from a high-school setting... and somehow she recognized us... maybe I'm on Umbrella's Most Wanted?"

"I know I am."

I checked my watch, obliviously making the conversation a monologue.

"Quarter to twelve." Thinking quickly, I continued, "When the lunch bell goes we'll just have to blend in with the crowd. I daresay Umbrella can only afford to man the gates... there's an area not far from Memorial Ave that is on the blindside of the guards at the exits... we'll have to vault the fence into a private property and then make a run of faith to the jeep. I'm sure Jill and the others will be ready to leave if they see Umbrella..."

"There's no way even Umbrella can afford to come in here guns a-blazing," Claire said quietly, "So we might just have to use that to our advantage and sit tight for a bit. We can't rely on a speedy get away anymore. The jeep was gone."

"What?!"

I summoned the picture of the Memorial Ave exit back from my memory. Yes, there was the gentle curve of the driveway that led to the gate. The guards were slumped against the fence-bars, one idly twisting a cap in his hands. And past the gate, on the other side of the road...

_God, she's right. The jeep is gone._

"Where did they go?!"

"Well, they couldn't have stayed there. It would've been too dangerous, and Umbrella probably would've found them if they had. That would've left them captured and us stranded. But they can't have gone far... they'll be waiting for us somewhere in the hopes that we can get out of here okay... Jill has her bag, right?"

"Yeah." _It's stuffed with some of _your _files._

"So she might have her cellphone. When we get out of here, I'll give her a call."

_When,_ I thought, _not if?_

"If we go through someone's private property," she continued, "like you were saying before, is there someway to get off the main roads?"

"Yeah, there's a walkway to a park. But that's on a street with no easy exits, we'd be effectively boxed in if Umbrella came after us."

She held up a hand quickly.

"Can your hear that?" she said in a furious whisper.

I listened. Yes, I could. Heavy footsteps that weren't disguised, but were nevertheless threatening.

Claire snatched the incriminating pink folder that housed the precious files. She pushed back the lid of the piano and stashed it among the gears, hammers and strings that made a piano a piano, and closed the lip with a snap. She took a step away from it just as the door opened.

"Hey."

I managed to relax; it was only Chris.

"There's Umbrella guards at the gates," said Claire, "Where's the others?"

"We drove off when we saw them arrive. They're parked in the parking lot of a swimming pool area called 'Aqualand'. It's not far from here at all- about a three minute walk. Good stroke of luck I found you- this place is a ghost-town's fan-fair maze with everyone in class. I came through the tennis courts to tell you about the guards and where we'd gone."

"You could've been caught!"

"You're welcome, by the way." Chris flashed his sister a teasing smile.

"Not that I don't appreciate it," she grumbled, "just thinking of possibilities."

I watched the Redfield siblings being, well, siblings. I felt a vague spark of what can only be jealousy, or maybe longing for the family life I once knew before the Viral Companies demolished it between them.

"So, you got the files?"

"Yeah." I reached down into the guts of the piano and waved the slick pink bundle at him. "Can we read them now?"

"Later," Chris decreed, "when we're all together and we don't have to worry about Umbrella barging in on us and trying to turn us into lab experiments or something equally as brilliant."

Claire nodded in agreement. "The files can wait."

_So single-minded, _I thought ruefully, looking at the tantalizing folder. _So tempting... What's in here that you want so much, HCF? What is it that you, Umbrella, don't want to be leaked out?_

They were the cause of all this trouble? Surely taking a few minutes to see what was on them wasn't too bad... was it?

"Hey Pandora," said Claire from the doorway, a very meaningful expression on her features, "Time to go."

_Later, _I promised them.

"So, where are the tennis courts?"

"Other side of the school," I replied promptly.

We stalked our way through the school, where these blocks of classrooms seemed to be placed at random. At intervals, doors would be thrown open to tempt colder air, and I saw glimpses of kids in green uniforms staring wistfully out to the sky. The humid noon-day aid was made heavy with their tortured sighs.

_Poor buggers. It's like some sort of prison camp._

Just as Chris pointed to the tennis courts, the lunch-hour bell rung. Students were unleashed from their torture chambers, seeming to materialize in herds that swarmed about us. No one gave us so much as a second glance. The previously silent school transformed instantly into a carnival.

Seeing the tennis courts, Claire took the lead. She purposefully marched towards the chicken-wire fencing, and I had to jog to keep up. I jumped the small creek, and landed heavily on the concreted ground on the other side. It brought my leg to my mind.

_I really need to get this leg looked at. But where is safe? And when will I have the time?_

I looked balefully at the files in my hands. The cause of all of it.

"Careful," Chris cautioned his rash sister, "they're close by."

We peeked down the street towards the main entrance. There were indeed Umbrella people there, but they looked busy explaining something to a veritable crowd of irate teenagers who obviously wanted out, and they wanted out now.

_Better them than me. Its times like this you need riot control._

Over the road was a white sign with 'AQUALAND' written proudly in blue paint. More commonly it was referred to by its former name of 'Jellie Park', which had been newly remodeled to match the new name. A lot of the long, rushy grass and scraggly bush had been cut down, leaving only a lake and trees before the swimming pool complex. The problem with Jellie is that now it didn't offer much cover from the road... if we were seen by Umbrella, it would mean we'd have to hightail it to the far building and loose them in the carpark.

"Want to take the risk?" Claire asked, with a go-to-hell smile.

"Why not?" I replied, more confidently than I felt. I grasped the files tightly.

We waited about two minutes for a sizeable gap in the traffic, as the tennis courts filled up behind us.

"Now!" said Chris, and we scurried in front of a red bus. Unfortunately, Chris almost tripped, causing the bus to honk its horn loudly as it swerved around him.

_Oh crud,_ I thought, looking at the guards. They were alerted by the sound, and swung their face around to scan us.

"Time to run like hell!" I squeaked.

My feet felt the springy grass beneath them and propelled me forward.

_Oh ye-ah, _some rebellious part of me piped up, _this is more like it- running away from Umbrella! Now THIS is a chance to do what we've been trained to do! Besides, you're _good _at running away._

I spared enough breath to tell myself to "Shut up," and wondered if I had been cursed with an invisible enemy.

I chanced a glance back at them, and saw that we were being followed. Even before we heard a cry from behind us we were frantically chasing the glimmer of survival the danced on the horizon.

_If I get out of this, I'm going to design a daily fitness routine, just in case anything like this happens again and I need to run to save my ass. I'll actually use the gym facilities. Jees, I'm technically employed by a gym... why can I not run marathons and lift buses?_

My feet pounded over a wooden bridge, and carried me through a pile of scattering, irritated ducks.

The park seemed never-ending, but eventually we passed the wire fence that signified the beginning of the swimming area. Then the carpark came into sigh. It was about there that my body shook from the strain and my lungs couldn't get enough air. I was forced to stop running, whether Umbrella and all its malevolence was behind me or not.

The other two were piling into the jeep before they noticed my plight- I had began to slip behind them. I watched as the horrible recognition entered their heads: I couldn't run, they couldn't get to me, and I had the files. I remember feeling horrified myself, horrified and shamed that my body had let me down.

And let them down too, little thought they meant to me.

But not even my fierce pride could force me one more step.

All I needed to do now was to fall over and through the files up in the air... and it would be exactly like the first time I ran away from Umbrella with them.

But it was not to be- I was hit forcefully in the side by a figure in black, dragged a fair few meters over short grass and biting gravel at some ludicrous speed, and more-or-less shoved ungracefully into a black van. Dazed and disorientated, I blinked several times to try and get the full picture,

Gone were the faces of the AVO's, replaced by those of HCF officials. They looked grim as the van stared and pulled away, watching me closely, like I was a caged tiger that could go beserk at any moment. Directly across from me was my 'Guardian Angel'.

It was Wesker.

He held out a hand covered by leather half-gloves –biker gloves maybe? - for the files, and I had no choice but to give them to him.

I noticed the dark red-purple creases of my hands that showed just how tightly I'd been clutching the cover slip, the marks the plastic had left.

"These the files?" The gruff voice belonged to someone whose face I couldn't make out. I nodded wearily, feeling the incredible weight of it pulling at my neck.

"You'll be meeting with Mister Corwin soon."

_Mister Corwin? The fricking HEAD of HCF? Oh holy shindig, no way I'll live past today. I must've really pissed them off. Who'd known traitors were bad? Oh f-u-u-c-k..._

Under the wary, predatory eyes of all my superiors, I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. The future can take care of itself, but my future would be hell. When the van stopped there would probably be Words, which ended with Threats and deserved the capital letter.

_The future can take care of itself._

_Not that there'll be much future for it to take care of._

Heavy exhaustion pinned my eyelids shut. I spiraled worriedly into sleep, giving my body time to heal and postponing the time I would have to face the music.

_Mister Corwin... oh _hell.

Unbidden and unwanted, the thought that surface last in my groggy, worried mind was the tense expressions of the AVO's as they realized I couldn't go any further. Did they care that I couldn't make it? Probably not. I doubted it would keep them up at night. I knew it wouldn't keep me up if it was the other way round.

Did they care that HCF now had these much-sought-after files? Oh yes, definitely.

So what next?

_Get the files, and get out. The files are what everyone wants. If you have the files back, you can have a future. Getting out of HCF's headquarters, right under Corwin's nose is going to be the difficult part._

I was going to get the damn files back, deliver them to the people I was getting them for, and then erase all knowledge of my former life. I would live somewhere remote, where no one could find me or reach me. Maybe some town that was still stuck in the eighteen hundreds or something and looked real picturesque.

But still their faces stayed with me, their horror, worry and pity.

_Pity? _

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW!!! 


	6. 5 Meet Corwin

_Zarbok- Is anyone else following this story? No? (sigh) oh well. Here's a chapter specially for you- I don't think it's my best work, but here you go. Jees, that guy from the bar sounds an angry drunk, or just a complete bastard all round. I hope you didn't get any infection. And thanks for the continued support, but I have to say, it's incredibly difficult with little encouragement. But thank you for all yours. I just can't promise I'll get another chapter done... it gets too disappointing... I know, I'm backing out. (sigh). Well, it's been almost a year to the day since I started... maybe this is some sort of sign (sighs again). All the cookies in the world that Wesker may or may not be entitled to bake are yours. (but there's still hope for me yet. I may just be getting worked up- look out for me in the future, lol!!!)_

Chapter Five

I was jolted out of semi-consciousness by a sudden change of momentum, caused by the van slowing abruptly. Having forgotten the invention of the seat belt when I got into the van before, I almost hit the headrest of the seat in front of me.

"Damn bus drivers," complained a voice with a Cockney lilt in the front.

I moved little, trying to avoid the attentions of my superiors for as long as possible. Through slitted eyes I could see them pouring over the contents of the files- exactly what I wanted to be doing. It wasn't worth asking to join in, of course- I was just a nobody, an employee who happened to be good at stealing from Umbrella and would probably remain in the dog-house for the rest of her life.

However long that would be.

Silently, I listened to the whine of the traffic. Sleep hadn't entirely lifted its soporific clouds from my mind, and it still made my eyes heavy, so sitting in complete lethargy had some appeal. And then I heard it- the distinct clatter of the restored tram and it rambled past.

We were in the centre of town, very close to the main gym.

I stretched laboriously, feeling the protest of my back and limbs, mentally making a note to try to see a chiropractor. Wesker's head snapped round as he caught the movement in his peripheral vision. Seeing I was no threat, he turned back round. I had served my purpose as far as he was concerned, and was no longer useful.

I studied the hard, unapproachable faces of the people around me. They were all as forbidding as ever, but with a dash of anxiety thrown in.

"What do you think it means?"

"Must be an outline of their plans."

"Impossible! Even Umbrella-"

The van came to a stop. Wesker grabbed me roughly by the cloth of my shirt, hauling me out of the van onto the busy street. The pavement was littered with people in suits and renegade students in untidy uniform. Through the glass I could see some gym members slaving away on a treadmill in an effort to keep in shape.

"Come on," the man snapped irritably. "I've been running around after you all day- show some initiative for a change!"

I nodded, following meekly, lamb-shy and cautious. I may be prone to temper-flare ups and even more likely to burst into tears under extreme pressure in my less rational moments, but I knew better than to even look snappish or tearful when it came to Wesker. The man was something of a legend in the ranks.

"_No lies, I swear, ten bullets, and he was still standing there smirking..."_

"_Honestly Ruth, the man's a tank! He could _defeat _a tank! No matter what you do, don't piss him off, he could probably rip a wee thing like you into ten pieces and eat a salad at the same time..."_

"_You can't trust him. He's got no emotions! How can you know if you've gone too far if his expression never changes?"_

"_Tendency to be frosty, doesn't show emotions, will hide the windows-of-the-soul (meaning his eyes, 'course Ruth) with glasses even at night- according to Linda's book, Doctor Wesker is the _definition _of scorpio!"_

Scorpio, rumoured to be the most dangerous of star signs- if you believed that sort of thing. Still, the book described Wesker to a tee, and so amongst those in training it became a nickname. A good idea, as it turned out, because Wesker always seemed to appear when someone was saying something derogatory about him and had an unrivaled ingenious when it came to devising pay back. Saying 'Scorpio's a dick' aided survival more than saying "I wish Wesker would die".

Truth to tell, he probably knew. Hell, he was probably proud. Scorpio has total ego.

I walked ahead of him, as the others prodded at a key pad. A door beeped electronically and was pushed open to reveal a carpeted hallway with squishy armchairs. It looked like some sort of cross between a tea room and a reception area.

"Stay here," I was told.

The officers in their dark suits trooped through a door way, past khaki guards who stared at the other wall with blank, somber faces.

I sat heavily in a chair, feeling the cushiness of it absorb me. It was like sitting on a marshmallow. The bright light didn't agree with my eyes, my leg was stiffening and already I was getting restless.

_Patience, _I told myself, _don't get into any more trouble._

For all my good intentions, I could only endure ten minutes of complete stillness before I turned to a guard.

"Where's the bathroom?"

He narrowed his eyes as if to say 'are you kidding', glanced at his partner and back to me. "I'll show yer," he said grudgingly.

"Thank you," I murmured. The guard looked familiar- young, but familiar. Maybe I had been in training with him. Maybe it was he who told me Wesker could pull me apart while eating salad. Trainees came and went, a common occurrence that caused lots of gossip amongst their peers.

He led me a short distance, and then opened a door. "In 'ere. Don't be long. I'll be waiting out here."

I breezed in past him, with no intention of using the facilities. There was no escape route from here. The window only opened about twenty centimeters. Even if I'd had a screw-driver with me, it would've been difficult to avoid detection while dropping onto a main road.

I sighed, and decided to wash some of the sticky blood off my leg before my trouser leg became cemented by it.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the small mirror over the hand basin. Out of habit, I smiled at my reflection, watching the movement as my mouth settled into a half-smile. Not much was funny today. My face was round, with a bruise on the cheekbone that I couldn't remember getting marring pale skin. The only claim my Hispanic father had on me was my dark eyes and darker, thick hair which now fanned about me in defiance to gravity.

I had been told I looked a lot like a female version of my brother when I was younger, only with a rounder face and slightly slanted eyes. But my brother had been fast-thinking, quick to smile and easily worried. The first to experience every emotion, the first to move, the first to reach a conclusion. I had grown more cautious over the years. By now, I was like my brother only in cowardice and in how I could become flustered.

I dipped a wad of paper under the faucet, watching the water soak the tissue. As I applied it to my leg –where it turned instantly crimson- I thought about how I had come to end up meeting Harold Corwin. How my brother's gift had led me to the files, and how the files had led me here.

_

* * *

_

_It was a chance meeting- a phone call in the night. I wouldn't usually answer it, but I am still in the dorm rooms out at Wigram. If I don't stop the infernal ringing, everyone will be up and there'll be hell to pay. Cow-heavy, I push myself towards the buzzing of the cell-phone._

"_Hello?" I say groggily._

"_Is this Ruth?" The voice is sharp, cut and imperious._

"'_es. Do you know wha' time it is?"_

"_Your brother's dead."_

"_What?" Suddenly I am wide awake. The last remaining member of my family... gone? Just like that? I hadn't seen him for years, and now I would never see him again?_

"_There was an incident at the Umbrella base in the Arklay Ranges. He was sent in to find out what happened... but he never got out."_

"_Who is this?"_

"_My name is... Alice."_

"_Why are you telling me this now? The Umbrella cock-up was months ago."_

_A sleepy, tusseled head half-heartedly throws a pillow at me, groaning._

"_I have something I need you to do. You have to-"_

"_Whatever." I hang up on the woman who calls herself Alice, who knows my brother is dead and who wants a favor. The sleeper who had heaved a pillow in my direction is back to sleep in an instant. I search blindly at the floor, finding a corner of the cushion and hugging it to me._

_For the precious remainder of the night, I stare straight ahead at the bunk above me. My brother is dead. I couldn't grieve for someone I had barely known, and the fact I couldn't mourn the loss of my brother, I couldn't even picture his face, I couldn't remember him much at all- it all fills me with a sickness. My brother is dead, and I barely care._

* * *

I threw the bloodied paper into a waste paper bin, and grabbed some more. Water trickled red down the length of my calve, but I barely noticed. The movements of my hand were methodical- scrape the blood away, over and over and over.

The guard knocked impatiently on the door. "Hurry up! We don't got all day."

_Have,_ I corrected, _we don't have all day._

He was right, we probably didn't.

* * *

_A couple of days later, the woman rings again. This time it's ten in the morning, and I'm in a café. The sad face of young Coral Burrows stares up at me from the news paper. As I answer my phone, I am still filled with a burst of hatred for her killer. She was young. She was far too young._

"_Hello?"_

"_This is Alice again. Don't hang up."_

_The waitress comes with my latte. I hold the large cup to my mouth, breathing in the aroma._

"_Wasn't planning to, yet."_

"_Do you work for Umbrella?"_

_I take a sip. "No."_

"_Good. Do you dislike Umbrella?"_

"_What is this, an interview?"_

"_I need you to do something for me. I knew your brother, I was there till the end with him. Umbrella literally killed him. I want your help to close Umbrella down."_

"_Alice, there are heaps of people trying to shut Umbrella down. I daresay they are more reliable and better equipped to do so than I am."_

"_Maybe so, but there are files I need. And the Umbrella file safe-house isn't in America. It's where you are."_

"_Really." I say disinterestedly, gradually emptying my cup. "Fascinating."_

"_My group and I are coming to New Zealand, but we'll be north of where you are. There's an Umbrella base there. If you get the files, you can give them to us personally."_

"_And why would I get these files for you?"_

"_You'll be well rewarded."_

"_How?"_

"_Money, if you want it. Umbrella is up to something, and the files in their cache tell us what. I want to find out what we're up against first. And destroy any blue-prints they have."_

_I know Umbrella has a plan. They always have a plan, and everyone knows that. The only trouble was; most people didn't have a clue what it was about. But something the woman said had piqued my curiousity- a secret base in the north? A file cache that housed all the files?_

"_Where's the files kept?"_

"_I don't know, but you can find out by getting into the Umbrella main-frame. I can't do it, I don't have the know-how, but even if I did it would be noticeable if I went into the file room myself."_

"_And what makes you think I do have the 'know-how'?" I put down the empty cup. It had been a good latte, too. Pity I had gulped it all down. Now the inside of my mouth has been scorched. Good one, Ruth._

"_Your brother was the UBCS technology guru who came to investigate the Hive. That means he was one of the best. Surely you know some of what he did?"_

"_Maybe."_

_There is a pause from the other end, and a frustrated sigh before the voice begins again. "What do I have to do to get you to do this?"_

"_What do you think their plan is?"_

"_I don't know, but we think it has something to do with experimentation of the growth of the virus in growing children."_

_I fall silent, staring the picture of nine-year-old Coral. She looks vaguely like me when I was younger, but I guess everyone does when they're that age. Her eyes are crinkled in a smile that extends almost to her ears. Just thinking about what the girl went through, the pain, the fear and the betrayal, brings tears to my eyes. Like most of the other inhabitants of the country, I had sent her distraught mother flowers, and I had hated her step-father when he admitted killing her._

_Children should be able to trust adults to keep them safe. Coral Burrows, god-bless-her, should not have been murdered by someone she should have been able to trust._

"_Okay," I say in a dangerously calm voice. "I'll do it."_

* * *

"Come on! Git out!"

Throwing the last bit of tissue in the bin, I opened the door. The knocking guard was caught off-balance in midknock, but I just pushed right past him. There were very few people in this area of the gym, but I didn't dare to run away. If I had been training with the guy, he knew how to use the custom handgun in his breeches. And he wouldn't hesitate to demonstrate, either.

Sinking back into the armchair, my mind traversed the paths of memory. It was like a dark wood, where light was not welcome to shed recognition on nameless fears. The guard rolled his eyes at me, as if daring me to retort, but I barely noticed. The woods can be fascinating.

* * *

_Bottle Lake Forest is incredibly beautiful in summer. There aren't any flowers, just the green-brown-blackness of blackberry and trees, but the sun shines through the dappled canopy. Every so often there is a glint of light as the sinking sun catches safety markers on the sides of overgrown paths. The sand is soft underfoot, sucking at the stylized soles of my running shoes._

_Good. It'll be easier to run away silently later on. Worth the extra effort._

_I pass a few others, most with dogs like myself, nodding and murmuring low greetings. Kavik darts happily from tree to tree at the extent of his leash. So easily distracted. There are too many smells and too many exciting things to do for just one dog! His dark eyes watch me pleadingly, begging me to take off the despised collar._

"_No, Kavik," I croon, "Chances are you'll be off after a rabbit and I'll never see you 'gain. Besides, you might scare the bejesus out of some poor kid; Lord knows you look like a wolf."_

_He cocks his head, tail wagging uncertainly. Obsidian eyes beg 'please' insistently. His dark, splotchy coat does make him look threatening, but all German shepherds have an intimidating air about them. Mainly he just looks gorgeous, and it's hard to resist. But I try._

"_You've already got me into trouble."_

_It's true, he has. Still, I'll soon be leaving the hostel to live at Pegasus Estates. Can't wait- should be a lot of fun. The stifling atmosphere of the HCF employee hostel is... well... stifling. Your talk is limited, your daily routine is limited. And you aren't supposed to have pets. Kavik had almost lost me my job, but I couldn't just give him up. I argued with the matron (a woman who was more of a wet trout than fiery dragon), who finally agreed. Truth be known, it was probably just to shut me up._

_I sigh, giving in to the puppy-dog eyes and unclipping the leash against my better judgment. His eyes are bright as he dashes under fallen logs and through the scraggly bush. To the world, I look like a young girl out for a walk at dusk with her much-loved dog. And how I want to be that girl. The viral world has never really appealed to me. I live for the outdoors, for fun. I don't want to be security personnel. I just want to work a boring 9-5 job like everyone else, and I fully intend to complain about it while doing so. Normal, happy things. Selfishly, I want them all._

_Walking Kavik is not what brings me here, though. But until the sun sets completely and the forest is empty, I can pretend. I pick up a stick, feeling its roughness, and throw it. With a gruff bark of excitement, he runs after it. The sun sinks lower._

* * *

"Mista Corwin wants yer in, now."

I nodded at the inarticulate man, consciously aware that my grammar surpassed his greatly. Grabbing at that little bit of courage, I nodded again my escort, being courteous. It gave me slight satisfaction.

"Thank you."

And through I went.

The room I found myself in was gigantic, and incredibly well furnished. Despite its size, somehow he managed to keep everything spotless, whether it was an antique-style lamp or a book casually left on a small coffee table. Photoframes and even pens gleamed in the light from the windows, and the wine curtains hung neatly to the sides.

Away from the more 'lived-in' area of the office was a large rimu table. It was designed to seat eight, but one chair was empty. Mister Corwin sat at the head in a typical Power Chair of black leather. Around him were some of the people who had collected me from Jellie Park, along with the infamous 'Scorpio'.

Mister Corwin looked precisely like I thought he would. Despite he was pushing sixty, age had only gone about half-heartedly enclosing him in its feebleness. The only effect his unbeatable competitor had was to make his hair- formerly raven-black- turn into the more formidable executive-silver. He was a large build, obviously still in top shape. His eyes burned like coal down a strong, Roman nose.

"Sit," he commanded. I sat.

A wispy man in glasses- who was obscured by Corwin's immediate area of influence- coughed nervously, bringing a heavy book onto the table. He coughed again. It had a worn red cover with well-used paper. He flicked to a page and coughed again.

"Date twelfth October two-oh-oh-four," he read. "President H Corwin, Scribe P Hewitt. Present C Foster, J Fowl, S Taylor and A Wesker. Also present HCF division S employee... Ruth?"

"Thank you, Hewitt," said Corwin. He rearranged his tie. "Ruth. I have decided to overlook you previous acts of insubordination if you prove your unwavering loyalty to our great company by completing a task for us."

"Sir, I must protest," a woman said smoothly. "This woman has not been trained to undertake the 'task' you speak of, and even if she was we can not trust that she is in anyway loyal to HCF. "

"I thank you for your input, Miss Foster, but you are a researcher, not a conspirator. We know how important Umbrella's failure in _this_ particular project is."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about there, sir," said a young voice, "Umbrella's projects can fail by themselves."

There was a muffled cough that just may have been a laugh of 'Alice'.

"Besides," the woman called Miss Foster continued, "Umbrella is not as stretched as it was immediately was after the destruction of Raccoon City. The government grants they mysteriously procure means they aren't in as much financial stress as we had hoped, and already they are rebuilding what files call 'the Hive'. They might not be in a position to ignore our perpetual thorn in their side for much longer."

I caught a subtle flash of red as Wesker looked imploringly heavenward. "I wouldn't trust files regarding the Hive too much. Umbrella themselves don't know what exactly happened in Raccoon City."

"Yes, Doctor Wesker," Corwin said, "funny that."

I could feel the hidden banter floating nigglingly somewhere just above my head. I could feel my brain prickle as it tried to decipher the important facts beneath the cool words and almost casual conversation, but I couldn't pick them up. I was too preoccupied with finding some indicator that I would be more than a cherry-coloured smudge come tomorrow.

"Ruth, what I want you to do is this: there is an Umbrella facility in the Malborough Sounds. I want you to lead STARS there and assist in the desecration of this facility, managing to bring us all important looking documents. It will be better if STARS thinks they are doing this by themselves."

_STARS? What the hell is that? Must've gotten AVO confused with some other group. _

"You will be given some of the files you have retrieved, enough to spike the curiosity of the group. Do not think of betraying HCF again- you will be being monitored. Prove you are a valuable asset, and I personally will pardon all sins."

The elderly man who had been struggling with the minutes handed me back my pink cover slip. There was still a lot of files, but it looked a lot thinner.

'What about the people? What do I say to them?"

"What you tell STARS – I mean, the AV organization- is your own business. I'm sure you'll come up with something acceptable in the time it takes you to find them. Have fun selling them out. If you need tips, go to Wesker."

"Oh, I don't know," the man in question slouched, and smiled sardonically. "What do you think, Harry? Do I need to practice?"

"Come back with your shield or on it," Corwin said. The security guards appeared at my elbows and lead me from the office.

"Loving employer we've got, I tell you," I grumbled, still reeling at how quickly I had been dismissed. Surely they were going to grill me over my wavering fidelity to HCF?

_Course not, they know I won't do anything with them breathing over my shoulder. They've had several years of training me to fear them more than Death himself. Why would I do anything that could get me in more trouble with them?_

_Still, if they're willing to pardon all sins it's got to be because there's a great chance you won't be coming back to pardon. Do you think you'll be able to lead the AVO's there? Do you have the lack of moral scruples that gets you into high places? Or will you skive off before it gets that far? _

The guard who hadn't been my escort before smiled briefly, as if he knew he wasn't supposed to. I caught a glimpse of his nametag- R Matheson. He was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, but I always was terrible at guessing ages. I suppose it came because people always got my age wrong. He looked friendly though, and contrasted greatly against the dourness of the other guard.

"You need someone to show you the way out?" he asked. His voice carried just the smallest trace of an accent or dialect.

"Yeah," I admitted, "I wasn't paying much attention to where I was going when I came in here."

He smiled again, the movement coming and going like the flutter of a moth's wing. "I'll take you. It's not a problem."

"Thanks," I said, meaning it. "It's been a rough day so far."

He motioned for me to follow him. "Well, it's probably going to get worse from here on out. Life has a horrible habit of kicking you when you're already down."

"You speak from experience?"

"Well sure! I work for HCF, don't I?"

* * *

FYI: Coral Burrows is a real person


	7. 6 Files, Take 1

_Yep, I'm back. Couldn't stay away, or something like that. Mainly, I'm writing this for you, **Zarbok**. I was a bit discouraged there, but now I've decided that if I started I'll damn well finish it. Your philosophy on life is good. I've chosen to adopt it. I'm glad to hear you got through infection-free._

_**Rain**: sorry to make you wait so long- every so often I have a habit of dropping out of sight. I'm back now though, and hoping to update more often. Who knows? Maybe I'll keep that promise this time- stranger things have happened!_

Chapter 6: Files, Take One

"Well, sure. I work for HCF, don't I?"

I offered the over-zealous security guard a wan smile, thankful for his cheeriness. My mother always said you had to be thankful for the small kindnesses. In a day that was rapidly going from bad to worse, anything that wasn't hostile could be considered kind.

"True enough."

"That's some damage you've done to your leg. Do you want to get the onsite doc to check it?"

I followed his gaze to sport pants that looked a little worse for wear. Chances were my bloody left leg would twinge for the rest of my life. "I wouldn't say no to some medical care, but since when did gyms have onsite doctors?"

"It's to compete with the OSH regulations. I mean, god, how stupid does the government think we are? In the carpark we're supposed to have a sign saying 'do not stand in front of moving vehicles. This can cause bodily harm.' And here at Harold Corwin Fitness, we don't want to draw _too _much attention from the authorities, so we have an onsite doctor to help people who _do _stand in front of moving vehicles - though I do believe individuals who stand in front of moving trucks are doing us a public service by removing themselves from the gene pool."

_Right on_, I thought, lost in inflections of his Maori accent. The drawl was a bit muted by life in the largely American-owned HCF, but I could still detect when he said gene pool and it sounded somewhere between that and 'John Pole'.

"So where's the doc?"

"Doc Spence is... well, I guess it's easier if I lead you to her. But don't worry, she's no relation to the Umbrella Spencer bloodline."

Nonchalantly, we passed guards on boring sentinel. Despite my best efforts to follow my training and memorize the path we were taking I was hopelessly lost. _Good thing Matheson's here_.

"When you think about it, Umbrella does surpass us in unhinged personnel though. There's Spencer, the entire Ashford family, the Birkins... all we've got is Corwin and Wesker, and they're not nearly insane enough to compete. Although, Corwin does have a love for low fat coffee that borders on frightening."

I smiled despite myself, wondering how he had survived in HCF for so long with such a loose tongue. Maybe the high-ups acknowledged that people with humor and life were needed in this depressing line of work. _Note to self, be bubblier. The viral world is already too sour. Matheson's got the right idea; turn those lemons into mass amounts of lemonade._

"And here's the doc's room. I'll be waiting outside to lead you to the exit. If I can remember where it is."

I laughed my thanks, pushing into a room that looked like a regular blood-test facility. A neatly made bed lined one corner, and there were shelves and cupboards for medical equipment and long-lasting prescription drugs. At the end of the room, in front of large, sunny window, sat Doctor Spencer.

She was quite round, with a homely face and eyes that were altogether too twinkly. She looked up as I entered, face splitting into a genuine grin. "Hi there, how are you feeling?"

"Oh yeah, okay, but I've burst a few stitches in my calves."

Spencer looked at my leg. "Just a few?" she laughed. "Take a seat on the bed. If you don't mind a local anesthetic, I might be able to get you all fixed up before you walk out that door again. I'm Rachel Spencer. And you are?"

"Ruth." I swung myself up onto the hospital bed, feeling my muscles' protests.

"Ah, the infamous Ruth! So I'm guessing you picked up these wounds in Bottle Lake Forest?"

"The first time, yeah. How does everyone know about me?"

The smile on Rachel Spencer's frank face widened. "Some of the security guards don't understand 'hear not, see not, speak not.' News can travel fast through the main building. Every company needs a water-cooler."

My leg was smeary and looked worse than it had before I had taken it upon myself to clean it up. Spencer looked over it, clucking and tsking, before going to a cupboard and bringing back a small syringe.

As always, upon seeing the needle I grew apprehensive.

She laughed softly, obviously noting my discomfort. "Don't like injections? I don't blame you- the human body has had centuries of disliking sharp objects. This is just a local anesthetic that will numb the surrounding area for about an hour."

I turned away as the needle slipped through the skin of my left calve. I fancied I could feel its contents being unleashed into my blood stream, and that I could detect the length of the needle stuck in my artery.

"Can you feel that?"

Spencer slapped my leg sharply.

I shook my head, mildly surprised to see the syringe had been long since discarded. "Nope, not at all."

"Good."

I leaned back on the squishy pillows, gazing at the ceiling so I didn't have to see what was going on. Small wonder I would never make it as a researcher- I couldn't stomach stitches, let alone full out dissection.

"So how did you get these anyway? I'd love to hear a first hand account."

A grin managed to surface like a disease. It felt good to have someone to chat to.

_

* * *

_

_The sun is sinking, and the clouds are helping to darken the sky. Impatience has had ample time to get me apprehensive. As far as I can tell, the forest is empty. _

_Kavik is as restless as I am, moving like a dark shadow through the murky trees, a symbol of canine malevolence. I grab his collar so I don't loose sight of him, realizing that I would probably soon regret bringing him with me._

"_I guess it's time."_

_The Umbrella File Cache had been well hidden many years ago in the depths of Bottle Lake Forest- a forest that was in the midst of "HCF's domain". No wonder no one had ever found it. I had only a small portion of my brother's hacking skill, which I used to find the location. At best, the computer files were vague- but that didn't stop me from finding it._

_Like something from Hogan's Heroes, the File Cache is a small room in a hollowed knoll, completely hidden from prying eyes. I stare at the small hill that hides it for a long time, wondering if I really have found it. Then, movement! And I can see the outline of an entrance as a man staggers out._

"_Now or never. Kavik, stay."_

_I slip away from the dog, knowing he will savage anything that comes near. The entrance is behind a terrific wad of unmerciful blackberry, which clings like a despondent lover. _Slowly, slowly.

_Further investigation shows there is a fallen barbed-wire fence among the natural barbs. I take this onboard, wondering if it will effect me in anyway, and thankful for the sandy path of pine-needles that muffles my footsteps. The man is being heartily sick only ten meters away. From the sound of it, it'll be a long time before he's feeling up to doing anything._

Only one guard... I hope I'm right...

_I slip through the entrance, finding a narrow, steep staircase. Following it down, the reason for the guard's sickness is revealed- an empty decanter of whisky lies on the bare table, another half-full bottle of something at the foot of a chair. _Forget sick, think alcohol poisoning.

_There is only one door in the small room. I look it over, frustration surfacing as I realize there is no handle or keyhole. I pushed my weight against it. Locked. And not even a chance to practice my lock-picking skills, and I'd practiced so much lately. The way Umbrella had been talking, the door was supposed to have a standard lock on it._

Hang on… standard for Umbrella? _My mind begins to swirl with possibilities of passwords and key-cards. My eyes sweep over the door again as I remember there was no keypad or anything. _Damn.

Think Ruth, think... What is 'standard' for HCF? _The answer is easy; guards, card-swipes, keypads, locks and electronically locked doors. I kick the offending door ineffectively. This could be my only chance to get in here, and I couldn't even get in!_

_In the hopes of having some truth revealed, I go through the contents of the desk. This inspection finds three packets of cigarettes, a sports magazine and a bus timetable. I stare at the bus timetable, trying to figure out if it is suspicious. Nope, just looks ordinary to me. Maybe Umbrella's skimping on the employee transport._

_My sigh is amplified in the small room- _now what?_ Even if I had an imposing stature, the man outside is too far gone to be able to form a coherent sentence. Frustration sends my foot into the desk. The glass decanter rolls precariously to the end, but I stop it before it can fall and shatter._

Who takes glass containers full of whisky to work anyway?

_The movement, however, has proved to be beneficial. I can't believe I missed it, but underneath the empty bottle of whisky is a small, black card. I pick it up hopefully, inspecting it. It looks like a magnet; one side's completely black. The other has the Umbrella logo on it and what could only be a magnetic strip._

_I turn back to the door. This has got to help._

_Or not._

Gah, come on! It's not like opening a door requires rocket science! Think, dammit, think!

_I take a deep breath and press my free hand to my temple, fully aware that I am wasting time and increasing the risk of being caught by standing around stymied. I have a card... and it can only be used in an electronic card reader. So where is one?_

It might not be for this door. The guard might not have access.

_The thought is pushed quickly aside, just as another one comes to take its place- _the entrance. There has to be a card reader at the entrance.

_As I near the said entrance, I begin to congratulate myself. The card is swiped through the device, and a green light beeps. I read the writing next to the LCD- 'system unlocked'._

That's got to be good. So what was difficult about that?

_Sure enough, I've managed to open the door. But it has cost me valuable time. I scurry back down, pushing against the door and gratified to see it open. As an aside, I slip the glass decanter between the door and its frame- just incase it is automatically locking. Then I look around._

_I had expected a mess of papers, with inch thick dust and dead insects over the floor. Instead I am greeted by a room lined with filing cabinets and a floor so clean you could perform open heart surgery on it. At least it makes finding the files easier. The woman had said they would all be in the same place._

_The key word I am looking for is "Pancreas". As I can see no relevance, I must assume it is a code name. It takes me a fair while to locate the filing cabinet it is in, but from there it is smooth sailing. Within seconds I have the precious files named 'pancreas' tucked in the inner pocket of my soft coat._

_I turn to leave, and realize it will be harder than I thought. I had taken too long._

_The drunken man stood in the doorway, his eyes on me with dumbfounded horror. Even from this distance I can smell the oh-so-charming aroma of vomit, urine, sweat and booze. His eyes are bloodshot and his chin unshaven. He's wearing unkempt army fatigues, with some custom Beretta's strapped to his thighs._

"_Wha' you doink i' 'ere?" he slurs, "you's no' allower to be i' 'ere."_

Still capable of semi-coherent speech,_ I think. _Wow.

"_I'm just leaving. It'll be like I was never here, okay?"_

_He blinks, his face hardening. Slowly he raises a standard survival knife at me. "I sai', you's no allower to be 'ere. Why are you 'ere?"_

_Crap. Looks like getting out of this mess will be much harder than I thought._

_Before I can make a move, he lunges at me. Alcohol has clouded his judgment, and he slices the top of my left knee before falling to the ground. I stand, hurt and hesitant. This room is small and he's blocking the only exit. Rat in a cage._

_He quickly picks himself up, and I realize how lucky I am that he has been drinking. He's still relatively fast- obviously when sober I wouldn't have a chance of getting past him. He seems bewildered by missing me, and reaches a hand to grab my wrist._

_Remembering what I had learnt the only time Wesker had showed up to one of his training sessions, I grab his wrist- a feat made easier by his delayed wits- put a foot on his thigh, transfer my weight and pull away. My reward is a gurgling cry and a loud snap. I don't stay around to find out how much damage has been caused- with the man temporarily out of my way, I head for the door._

_I should have known that I wouldn't make it that far that easily. Pain and drunkenness alone doesn't wipe out the fear of Umbrella in its employees- and the man's strong fingers grab my right ankle. His knife has been discarded from the second his first fell to the floor, but just because he's unarmed doesn't mean he's not a threat. _

_My free foot knocks something as I struggle to get through the door, thinking I could slam it on his hand. It's the whisky bottle! Trying to keep my balance on my injured leg, I scoop it up and throw it at his arm. This time it does shatter- a fair few shards going into my right leg. The effect is desirable, as he lets go, probably more out of shock than in pain. I slip through the door and it closes behind me._

_I was right. It's automatically locking. The poor drunken bugger can't get out._

_I pat my coat to make sure the files are all there, and am surprised to find I still have the Umbrella swipe card. Who knows when it might come in useful- I pocket it too. And I turn, to get the hell out of here._

_I see the camera beeping in the corner, but it doesn't register. So when I burst out into the blackberry, I am surprised to find some UBCS guys there, waiting. They seem surprised to see me as well- they must have just arrived. Before they can begin shooting at me, I hit the sandy ground and roll into the thickest part of the thorny plant._

_Every movement causes some skin to be ripped out, but I don't think they can see me. From traversing the forest earlier, I know this particular patch of blackberry stretches fifteen meters all around the knoll. If I can stand the pain, I can move in the middle of it and possibly avoid their gaze._

_I hear the snarling of a dog and the cry of a man. _Kavik! _I want to go get my puppy, but there's no way I can without sacrificing my life and the files. HCF believed the whole was greater than the individual, and that mindset helps me leave my pet behind. There is a chance he could get away- Kavik is a big dog, and savage when the mood takes him. But it is minimal._

_I force myself into a crawl, grateful I am wearing thick clothing that can protect my back from the thorns. I move about three meters before I realize I'm in trouble. Something thin but strong is caught around my legs. I pull away, thinking it is a fallen branch or something, but that results in whatever it is being pulled tighter and things that feel like hooks drag through my skin._

_Muffling a yell, I remember what it is- the fence, the same damned one I told myself not to forget. Now I am faced with freeing myself from it without making any noise and with the movement drawing the attention of the UBCS guys. I can hear them, bush-bashing in my direction._

Keep calm, don't panic- that's what you've been trained in for four years. Focus, get out of this mess. Don't worry about the pain, just rip the wire off. Bet you wish you brought the survival knife know, don't you?

_With clenched teeth, I reach tentatively towards the source of the pain. The fence wire is in a tight tangle, and I wonder how I got so badly caught. Deciding there is nothing else for it, I get a grip and yanked._

"_YARGH!"_

_I always forget how _painful _pain really is! With an unwilling whimper, I repeat the process. The scream I make this time is more of a frightened squeak. I can hear the men coming closer, drawn to the sound. As far as I can tell, there's only one wire left, tightly coiled just below my knee. This one has no barbs._

_I try to manipulate the wire to get some slack so I can pull my leg out. Pain and fear combined is quite a powerful combination, and somehow I manage to free myself. Circulation starts again, bringing tears of agony. But there's not time to waste boo-hooing._

_Someone's close. I can see them- a black silhouette amongst the dark trees._

_People are misguided as to their belief that black is perfect camouflage at night. Instead, it is the least favourable of all dark shades, even blue. You see, it stands out strongly in every type of darkness as a solid black form, unless you're in pitch-blackness. The best is dark greens and, believe it or not, red. _

_My black-wearing opponent is quite close. I hold my choking breath, praying the paying attention in camo101 would pay off. I am wearing red and green- not the Christmas variety, but duller earthy tones. If only he wasn't so efficient..._

"_Found anything?"_

_The man nearest me turns in the direction of his comrade's nicotine-ridden voice. I take the opportunity, painfully beginning to crawl again. In my fear I'd almost forgotten the entire knife and fence incident. It would take more than a few herbs to patch this mess up._

"_No, nothing. Little bitch's probably long gone. Shoulda opened fire when she first came out."_

Love you too_, I managed to think. At least he was distracted and the sound of conversation masked my labored breathing._

_Finally, I break out of the troublesome blackberry. My thoughts of using it for shelter are embarrassed by their own suggestion. It's time to fly. I only wonder how far I'll get before they notice me and open fire. _

"Motion. Movement is your worst enemy in the dark." The echo of an old lesson.

I know. But there's nothing else I can do. Either run and risk it or wait for them to flush me out.

Time to get gone.

_As soon as I stumble to my feet, I know I've made then wrong decision. I can't run fast or far in this shape. I should've stayed in the thorn-walled safety. But it's too late now. _

_The man in black is so close I can hear his breathing. Still he banters with his friends- a breach of protocol in my favor. I am terrified that he'll see me out of the corner of his eye, or hear me, or a dozen other things that could go wrong. Like so many rabbits in their dying moments, I begin to freeze up._

No! Get out of here!

_The man shifts his weight, and the movement sets me going. There's no time for pain now- my body cells are pumping out their miraculous adrenaline. I run, the sand sucking at my shoes and smothering the sound they make. It's hard going._

_Too my never-ending astonishment, I am twenty metres away before some one calls out a shocked "Hey!" I duck and weave through the trees and scrub, hoping they can't get a clean shot in. They don't even bother- instead, the men are up and after me, knowing I'm a target too hard to hit._

_The rest of my mad dash is a blur. I remember explaining to myself that my muscles were burning because of a build-up of lactic acid, and that lactic acid was there because I wasn't getting enough oxygen. Proof that I did pay attention in Basic Biology, I guess. Anaerobic Respiration at a cellular level. The thing that scares me is that I'm not paying attention to what's going on. I'm too busy figuring out a years-old biology lecture to focus on my survival._

_By some miracle, I reach the edge of the trees. _

What now?

_I hadn't thought I'd get this far._

_With an absence of anything else to do, I run to my little Toyota corolla. It should have spelt my death, starting the car, but I am in it and gunning the engine as the UBCS honchos reach the tree line. I'll have to ditch the car soon, but it gives me a chance to rest and some much needed speed._

_With growing apprehension I approach the highway turnoff. It's only two hours later, when I have left my car at a parking building, caught a taxi to the HCF hostel building and locked myself in a guest room that I begin to relax. I know that I will have to be gone from the building before everyone wakes, leaving only confusion and a red blood stain on the carpet._

_I should've known I'd fall._

_Come to think of it, I'm still not relaxed. Umbrella will be looking for me, and I'm bleeding heavily. The knife and barbed wire has thoroughly mutilated my legs. I can't believe I made it. It doesn't feel real._

_Thank god for adrenaline._

* * *

"Wow," said Spencer, wrapping a bandage tightly around the fresh stitches. "It's even more exciting than the rumors! It certainly explains the deeps gashes and everything you have on your legs."

"Yeah. I'm still having a hard time believing it happened. Everything always happens so quick or not at all."

"You got that right."

I sat up, watching the doctor's expert hands tighten the bandage and fasten it with a special clip. The feeling was beginning to return to my leg. The right one was fine, apparently, and healing one. The left, however, was a different story.

"But Ruth, you should know not to rip things out of your skin like that. If it had hit a main artery, you'd have bled to death before you made it to the car. I know it's an instinct, but so's the freezing thing you were talking about."

"I know,' I admitted, "but I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."

"Well, I can't say you made the wrong decision, because here you are –relatively healthy- and who knows where you'd be if you hadn't freed yourself?"

"It's funny how things work out."

"Fate, or Destiny, or even plain old Luck. All have their attributes and downsides, but all seem responsible for survival."

Spencer straightened, standing and reaching to shake my hand. "it's been good to meet you, Ruth, but it's always go-go-go here. Next time you're in here, feel free to drop by for a chat."

"Thanks," I said, swinging myself to the ground. Already my leg felt healed, a mind-trick that was welcome. "I'll do that. Good talking with you, and thanks for fixing my leg."

Her wide smile came back. "No problem. Just try to keep out of trouble for a bit, or it may never fully heal. I know that'll be hard for you."

I returned her smile, exiting the room. Matheson straightened when he saw me. I wondered if he'd been falling asleep. More likely he'd been listening to the story through the door. By sunset I could be an HCF celebrity.

"You all ready to go?"

I nodded,

"Okay then. Time to leave."

_

* * *

(and there you go, my sixth chapter and seventh update. Chapter seven pending. I promise )_


	8. 7 Unforeseen Roadtrip

_Wow, fast response! I respond in kind, then!_

_**Zarbok:** aloha! No, of course I couldn't run like flame at the first sniff of smoke- I've got to find out what's burning first! Glad you liked the last chapter- took my bloody ages to write, but I knew it'd be out there eventually. At least you're man enough to repair burnt bridges- I hope the person dubbed in my mind as 'the biting bastard' will prove himself worthy to be at your card table. (Insert self-mocking laugh) Did you really think you could get rid of me so easy? My little gem of wisdom for you –seeing as you've given me so much- "If you don't help out your group, then you're not part of the group no more". I don't know if that has any relevance to you, but there you are, one of the many little mantras I live my life by._

_**Rain1657:** (Do you mind if I call you just Rain? I tend to forget numbers- in my own penname I never use them. They're basically there to emphasize the name is 'sych' not 'such'- but what am I talking about (slaps self) I've got off track)- Thanks, I'm glad you think I've down the flashbacks well. I'm almost finished with them... I've got one in this chapter and then one later on. Hehehe, I think it would've hurt too! _

I apologize if this chapter is more bitsy than usual- it was written relatively quickly but I can't write things with lots of traveling for them. I have done the 'road trip' mentioned, and take it from me- it's boring. There's absolutely nothing to write about unless great fields of grape vines are one of your fetishes.

**Chapter 7-**

Matheson easily navigated the way through the labyrinthine corridors of the gym. Gradually I could recognize where I was- past the pool, past the cafeteria where on-lookers made uneasy jokes about their fitness, and look, the reception desk- and then I was there, in front of the glass doors, standing at the exit. Groups of people were dotted here and there; debating whether exercising was worth it on this balmy day.

"Hey, thanks for leading me this far," I said. "I really appreciate it."

He shrugged. "No worries, I enjoyed the break in the monotony of guard duty. What are you going to do now?"

I sighed, thinking of how difficult and confusing things had gotten. _Wow, the day's really gone into a tail-spin, hasn't it? _"I have to hunt down some people... but first I think I'll get changed- blood stains aren't really my thing. And I need to eat something. When I left this morning, I thought I'd be back within an hour. I've gone a long way on a bagel."

He raised an eyebrow. "Good thing you didn't skip breakfast."

I nodded in total agreement.

"So, how are you going to find STARS?"

_STARS? That was what Corwin said!_ I backtracked the conversation I'd had with him, and was positive I hadn't mentioned STARS at all. Trying to sound nonchalant, I asked, "What is STARS anyway?"

"It's an elite branch of police, sort of like SWAT. I can't remember what the acronym actually stands for, but in short it's a group of highly talented men and ladies who go around saving the masses."

_How does a security guard pick so much up? He must be the world's most gifted eavesdropper- and the world's biggest security risk._

"Oh."

He looked at me expectantly, as much a puppy as ever, wanting an answer. I stared back, not offering anything. I hadn't been sworn to secrecy, but the implications of discretion were definitely there. I could tell I wasn't supposed to make it wide-spread knowledge. I wondered if Corwin knew about some of his less silent and more free-talking staff.

"So, are you?"

I hid an inward sigh. "I don't know of any STARS, sorry Matheson."

His eyes narrowed in confusion. _Oh dear lord, I've offended a gossip. _It suddenly struck me that I hardly knew Matheson at all, he was armed and trained, and he was a lot taller than me.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Matheson's brow creased further as he studied me. "Yes, you do," he stated firmly, grabbing my arm and half-leading, half-pulling me out through the front door.

"What's going on? Where are we going?"

He didn't answer. On the busy street we blended in with the jostling crowd who were out doing their shopping. No one gave us a second glance.

"I need to get away from the watchful eyes of HCF for a minute. Just relax- I'm not trying to abduct you."

I relaxed a hair. He led me across the road and down about three blocks until we came to a large parking building. We went up the stairs to the third level, stopping finally at a grey Nissan. Matheson let go of my arm and looked nervously around the chocka area.

"What's going on?" I repeated. I took a step away from him and crossed my arms, trying to look intimidating.

"You've met STARS. Are you trying to find them again?"

I looked over the shiny roofs of the cars, wondering why this sort of thing happens to me. "Matheson, honestly? I have never heard of an agency called STARS before today."

Matheson gave me another piercing look, his eyes pleading me for something. I could tell by the pallor of his face that he was apprehensive. Clearing his throat nervously, he tried again. "Okay, look. I don't mean you any harm, but have you met someone called Chris Redfield?"

_Just say you do. This is a public place, after all. And you're not completely helpless. Then maybe you can get out of this mess._

"Yeah. What of it?"

He sighed, instantly relieved. "Thank god. I thought I was about to make a horrible mistake and put the entire team in jeopardy." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slim mobile phone and dialed a preset number.

"Hello? Yeah, it's Henare... Yeah, I found her. Told you I would..."

"Who are you talking to?" I asked.

"Redfield."

I held out a hand imperiously. "Give me the phone."

I listened carefully to the phone line with the small device pressed to my ear. It didn't seem like anything untoward was happening to the line- no bugging or anything like that- but then what would I know about that? I was never great shakes at technical things.

"Hello?"

I couldn't be sure if it was Chris's voice distorted by the line or not. "Chris?"

"Amanda? I mean, Ruth? You're okay? That's great! I thought we'd never see you again after you got snaffled away in the car park!"

_It's Chris,_ I decided. "Yeah, I'm fine. I need to talk to you lot though... preferably face-to-face somewhere safe."

"Already onto it. Just stay with Henare, he'll lead you to us."

"Henare?" I repeated, wanting to know more about Matheson's supposed name.

Matheson gently plucked the phone out of my hand and began talking quietly to Chris- not to make sure I couldn't hear his side of the conversation, but so other nosy ears couldn't pick anything up. I watched him cautiously. It seemed he was a member of AVO, but everything screamed to keep at least one eye on him. HCF had a way of finding moles and turncoats.

"Sure Chris, yeah... Shouldn't take more than five or six hours... Well, that's hoping she doesn't kill me on the way... what? It looks like there's a good chance... okay, yeah... see you there."

He returned the phone to his pocket, and turned to me with his hands raised. "Look Ruth, I work for HCF –sure- but also for AVO. And let's face it, AVO is owned by HCF anyway. But I am on Chris' side, I swear. I can't prove it to you, but there it is."

My face showed my undecided belief. Chris and the others, Jill particularly, didn't strike me as people who were a bad judge of character... except when it came to their bosses maybe...

Hang on...

An image of Wesker's face with mock disappointment plastered over it surfaced in my mind. _"New boss? And he didn't even ask me for a reference."_

Two bosses? _Maybe they're not such good judges of character after all._ But I had spent a while with Matheson and he seemed a genuinely nice guy. _Just keep an eye on him. Don't hesitate to whack him in the head if something doesn't add up._

"So who's Henare, then?"

"My name is Richard Henare Matheson. People at work tend to call me 'Rick' or 'Matheson', but to my friends I am Henare. It's Maori for-"

"Henry?"

"No. James."

He let his hands fall to his sides before running one through his dark hair. "I can't prove my loyalty to you, I know that. I went through the same training at HCF- trust only yourself. Chris believes strongly that Umbrella must go down, and I share that belief. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"

I wondered if Chris had told him his goal was to take all viral companies down.

'What will HCF do when they realize you've left your post?"

He shrugged. "Technically I wasn't working today. Get in the car; we're going on a road trip."

I did as he said, having nothing else to do. The car was a grey Nissan Primera, nothing too flashy or anything. The interior was a dark charcoal and the dashboard had a few customized accessories on it. I sat in the front passenger seat gingerly, hoping I wasn't making a big mistake.

"Where're we going?"

"To visit the other half in the Sounds."

"What, Milford?" I asked, thinking of the large national park that took up the south-west part of the island.

"No, Marlborough. The one to the north, where everyone goes for summer holidays- you know?"

I nodded slightly. "So what's the 'other half'?"

Henare looked at me in surprise. "Don't you know? Didn't you wonder what had happened to the others?"

"What others?"

"The others they were with in Raccoon City and everything."

"Whoa, hold on- these STARS people were involved in the biggest company blunder of all times?"

He laughed. "Don't you know? Jeeps girl, it's a good thing we have a four hour drive in which I can tell you all about it. It's a story of courage, tragedy and betrayal, a ripping account that will keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish and linger in your mind for months afterwards." He was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Where to begin? Let's start from the very beginning, a very good place to start…"

"You sing too?" I laughed, wondering how a rough-n-ready guy like Matheson came to know an extract from _'the Sound of Music'_.

He winked. "All for the love of entertainment."

_The sky is clouding over, thanks to a gentle breeze. My fellow squad members look to me, waiting for me to make a call. My face is covered in green and tan paint. I scan the horizon, my cap's brim shading my eyes._

"_Right team," I say, my voice oozing confidence, "they're in no shape to stop us. We just have be quick. Saunders, you're the fastest runner. We'll get it to you, and then you make your way every-man-for-himself-style to safety. Got it?"_

_The agile Saunders nods, an anticipatory grin lighting up his impish face. "Got it."_

_I clap my hands together. This time nothing will go wrong. The opposition is running around heedlessly. "Okay… capture that flag!"_

_My five-strong team of adolescents jump over the lip of the dry river-bank, hurdling forward with blood-curdling yells. I am in the lead, seeing the flag billowing gently in the wind, waving to me like an old friend. It's ours, I tell myself, we're the champions for the fourth time in a row!_

_Chamberlain reaches it first, taking it out of the heavy bracket and tossing it to me before he gets bodily tackled by a member of the other team. The small flag pole welcomes my hand, and I in turn pass it to Saunders. I see him catch and speed off like a rabbit as Phillips collides with my waist, sending me to the ground. _

_I roll out from underneath her weight, making to my feet in time to see Saunders break into a victory dance. We've won! I offer a hand and help pull thickset Phillips from the ground._

"_Good game," I say._

_She slaps me friendly-like on the back. "We'll get you one day, Less."_

_The standing joke- to them my last name is 'Less'. Ruth Less, get it? Real funny I know. I smile at her, knowing that my team is unbeatable, before I join the others for an ensemble victory dance._

_It is cut short by the appearance of our fitness trainer, Stephen Rhodes. He tells us, unusually somber, that we will be leaving our home here to go to a safer place. The reason? "Umbrella's made another exceptional blunder. If anyone finds out, they'll take it out on us too, no questions asked. It's safer if we pull back before anyone finds out about us. Sorry, kids. Say goodbye to America."_

Listening to Matheson's dramatic tale, I began to understand why we were suddenly uplifted from our own training base. The atrocities that went on in the Spencer Mansion and Raccoon City would have inspired a lot of hate towards all viral companies, if the truth had leaked.

"Wow,' I commented, marveling over their achievements. "I had no idea they were so infamous. But now so many things make sense." I tried to imagine finding out my boss had led me somewhere with the soul purpose of killing me. _Hang on, isn't that what _your_ boss is doing now?_

I suddenly felt I hadn't shown the Redfield duo enough gratitude when they risked their asses to 'rescue' me, especially seeing as they knew the nightmare they had been signing themselves up for.

"Wow," I repeated.

"Yeah," said Matheson. "Umbrella sure is a bitch."

I nodded.

"But it's had viral breakouts so many times- Raccoon, Sheena, and probably more that we don't know about. Why the government chose to fund them I'll never know. They're far too high-risk."

"And now we're going to help stop them?"

"Oh yeah," Henare replied. His brown eyes were hard but focused on the main road. "They have to go down."

"Do you know what they're getting up to in the North?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven't the slightest clue. They've been keeping it wrapped up tight." We breezed past a sign that declared 'WELCOME TO KAIKOURA'. "Hey, you want something to eat?"

"Yes, please!"

Kaikoura is a small town with two main streets, right on the waves' edge. The smell of salt and seaweed is potently strong, and the life expectancy of metal is cut almost in half. Most people who live there scrape a living off tourists and the bounty of the sea. There's not a lot to do, and not many people stay for long. Because shop owners are so desperate for business, things like 'age restriction' and 'legal amount' go pass unnoticed.

This was proved when we passed a thirteen year old taking a drag on a roll-your-own, a humble can of Speights tucked under his arm, ready for the drinking.

I don't know how Henare managed it –must be this Kiwi ingenuity I keep hearing about- but he got control over a hotel room, so I could have a shower. It was difficult with my bandages as they had to be kept dry, but I would have cut off an arm for a chance to be rid of the sticky sweat I had accumulated in the morning's events.

When I exited the small bathroom, wrapped in a thick hotel dressing-gown, I found Henare had bought some clothes for me while he had been buying lunch.

"Here you go," he said around a mouthful of nachos, thrusting a bag at me. "I had to guess your sizes, but I think they're pretty close."

He had bought jeans and a short-sleeved blue shirt. The jeans would get uncomfortably hot, but I need something to cover the newly bandaged stitches. I got dressed thankfully, wondering why I hadn't thought to stop off at my room before leaving the city.

Between the two of us food quickly disappeared. Then I was sentenced back into the car, fighting sleep and heat. _Not long now,_ I thought, _the main haul is over_.

"About two hours to go," Henare said, apparently reading my mind.

"I thought you said it would only take four hours!"

"I lied."

There was little I could reply to that, though I did grumble and sulk for a couple of minutes before realizing I couldn't change travel time. To take my mind off how uncomfortable I was, I began talking with Henare again.

"So how did you get tied up with HCF?"

He smiles ruefully. "They lured me with promises of free trips to America. How could I resist? All I wanted to do was to get away from my family, and break out into the freedom of another country. I had already served in the army for a couple of years. Security would be a breeze. Or so I thought. Nothing ever turns out the way you plan." He glanced over at me. "What about you?"

"The Family Splitting plan," I told him, seeing he knew vaguely what I was talking about, "where one member of the family –in my case, my brother- will work for Umbrella, so the others are hired for HCF. It's supposed to break the Umbrella worker's concentration or something. And HCF thought people in the same families would have similar abilities- nature verses nurture sort of thing."

"Does it work?"

"People having similar abilities?" I shrugged. "Not for me and my brother. My brother was a techie, I'm more of the cannon-fodder."

"Zombie chow," Matheson corrected.

"But we both had a dedication for doing something once and well. So maybe the same strength of character... similar beliefs... similar _attributes_... I don't know. I'm not a scientist." I was silent for a bit before adding, "My brother's dead. In Raccoon."

"I'm sorry," he offered.

I shrugged again, closing my eyes to cut everything out. The last time I saw my brother things had been very, very different. I wondered if he knew what our companies were getting up to, whether or not he was part of their inner circle.

My brother was not an evil man. We were talking about the guy who thought if we put salt into my father's coffee, Dad would not notice the absence of sugar- we had broken the sugar bowl in a mock fight. I could still remember with startling clarity the convinced look on his face as he proclaimed, "Come on, Ruth. I bet if we put in more salt it'll make the coffee taste good."

I shifted uneasily, trying to avoid the murky corridor of thought that led to an even darker place.

"When are the AVO's going to meet with us?"

"A couple of hours after we arrive, I hope. I'm not sure if they'll stop anywhere for the night or keep coming. We'll get there about seven- just in time to cook something spectacular before hitting the hay for a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, you'll be safe and we can decide what to do with you."

"Actually, Matheson, I have some things to do up around here. A task for HCF, involving the sabotage of one of Umbrella's projects."

"Ooh," he said, "Sounds like fun. Can I come with?"

"Eh?"

"Can I come with you?" he elaborated.

"You want to?"

"Hell yeah! It could be the most important thing I do all year."

"We'll see what Chris says," I replied noncommittally. "He might think it's too high risk or something."

Henare's face darkened at the thought of being left out. _The guy _likes _daring Umbrella to do their worse? _He was unapproachable for the rest of the journey, except for when picking up a meal in Blenheim – "what's the matter?" he asked when I declined a super-size from KCF, "Chicken?"- so I spent most of it dozing and day-dreaming. Obviously I had offended him by not jumping to accept his offer of help.

It was almost seven when a small smile spread across his uncharacteristically sour face. He took both hands from the steering wheel to gesture at the hills around them- their healthy emerald green being burnt to tan under a merciless sun. "Marlborough! The wine county! There can't be a place I love more in the whole of _Aotearoa_! I love this place so much. And I love it even more today, because it means we're almost there!"

As I learned later on, _Aotearoa _is the Maori term for New Zealand. It means 'land of the long white cloud'. It seemed more than abstract to me, but at the time I shared Matheson's exuberance. The hours that gave me no chance to move may have been good for the healing of my stitches, but I fear they were bad for my mind.

Henare guided the car to a stop in the late afternoon shade of a stunted macrocarpa tree, only a few steps from the high-tide mark. I looked around in growing confusion and apprehension, for the beach lined by native forest was empty of life except for two fishermen in the distance. I began to wonder if Matheson planned to kill me, but such morbid thoughts were dissipated when he pointed to an aging rowboat.

"Can you row?" he asked me.

_In that thing? You've got to be kidding!_ "Yeah."

"Good." He pointed out to a small island in the middle of the bay. "See that? That's the island where the rest of the STARS have been camping out, in my Ma's old house. You can see the red roof from here, and there's a path to it straight from the jetty. You row over now- the other's will greet you kindly. I'll be over in a tick in the mail boat- too many supplies to take over! You okay with this?"

"Sure," I replied, feeling anything but. Suppose the glorified tin-can of doubtable nautical virtue were to sink in the middle, leaving me to struggle on stiffened, half-healed legs through the rocky waves?

"_Kapai_!" he commented, "Sweet as! This way, if Chris and his motley crew appear in the next half hour the mail boat will have room for them too."

_He gave up his mother's house to a bunch of strangers? Talk about dedication of the verge of the insane... but technically, that proves his loyalty. Right?_

I watched him leave to consort with the fishermen as to the whereabouts of the mail boat before pulling the battered rowboat to the water's edge and fussing with the oars. I went round in a few lazy arcs before I got both sides completely balanced, and then I could move through the water with fluid, strong strokes, watching Matheson disappear through the forest and wondering if the other STARS knew I was coming.

I had a hair raising moment where I nearly capsized, trying to see the little jetty as I sat with my back to it in the rowboat. That's the thing about rowing; you can never see where you're going. I ended up tethering the barely sea-worthy 'craft' to a jetty post with an old length of rope, leaving the oars in the boat.

_Now... where's that path?_

The path had once been well-loved and carefully tended. It was lined neatly with light brown logs, and the soil had a layer of soft pine needles that prevented anything from growing there. I enjoyed my walk down it, watching the sunset through a dappled canopy and listening to the sounds of nature.

Unfortunately, the end of my walk came all too soon. Mrs Matheson's house was large, and in exceptional condition except for a rip in the fly screen covering the open door frame. Under the eaves of the wooden porch, spiders the size of my palm made webs in lazy loops. The windows of both the first and second storey were open by a finger's breadth. No curtains were closed and no lights were on.

Apart from the freakishly large bush spiders and the distant drone of flies, it seemed the house was uninhabited.

I stared at it for a long while. The longer I stared, the clearer it became- there was no life in the house.

_So where's STARS?_


	9. 8 Welcome

_**Rain-** thanks for the review! Yeah, I can see what you mean about the last chapter being hard to follow. The general idea is that she finds out the guy Matheson who's been showing her around is working for STARS, and he takes her north to meet up with other STARS members (like Leon, Rebecca, etc). While they're traveling, they begin talking of Raccoon City and how they got involved in HCF. Unfortunately, because I can't write traveling chapters very well, it got bitsy- all disjointed and that shebang. Anyway, I hope this is more clear! And as always, thank you so, so, **so** much for reading! As for betrayal... I guess you'll just have to read the chapter!_

_**Zarbok-** virulized? Nice term! Yes, ookami does indeed mean wolf. Unless the guy said 'okami', which means landlady. Take your pick! You wiped him out at cards? Karma **does **exist! I know what you mean about suddenly seeing someone in a new light- it sucks. I've had that happen a couple of times myself. They'll do something, and I'll be like "Man, I hardly know you" and they'll look at me oddly, and it just becomes more and more obvious that I never knew the real person. Big sigh. Oh well, life goes on. You guys have had big storms too? I tell you, it's like we're in for a huge tropical storm here. This place called the Bay of Plenty has been completely desecrated over and over again this year. If I didn't know better, I would say it was something to do with butterfingers and explosives. As for the brilliantly unhinged Captain Wesker, I daresay his ego won't allow this story to be Wesker-free for long._

**Chapter 8- Welcome**

_No point shagging around. Maybe they're out?_

Doubtfully, I walked onto the porch. My soft-soled shoes made dull, echoing thumps as I made it to the ripped fly screen door and banged my fist against it. It rattled in its frame.

"Hello?" My voice seemed to be absorbed.

I stayed outside a while longer, noticing the wooden exterior of the house had recently seen a fresh lick of creamy paint. It was a house in extremely good condition, and obviously well cared for.

Every time one of the large spiders scuttled on a loop of web I would give a squeamish cringe. Ever since my brother put one down my back when I was four I've had an intense dislike for them.

So, when it becomes more and more obvious that no one is home, I don't opt to sit around with the spiders and wait.

I opened the rattling screen, feeling only slightly guilty about entering a stranger's house but a lot like Goldilocks- _no eating any porridge- _as I let myself into a silent hallway. The wooden floor was covered with a blue, much loved rug, and the walls were bright and creamy.

A normal house near the seaside.

I took the first door on the right, and a smart lounge greeted me. The dark couches were not new, but they had the air of comfort that only well-used furniture can radiate. Three two-seater couches were arranged around a large black coffee table that housed an urn of sunflowers. The walls were light and the large windows streak-free.

The sunny, bright flowers caught my eye, and instantly I knew something was wrong. The flower heads drooped sadly earthward, their petals curled and withered. They had been there for a while.

I put my pink-covered, HCF-censored files near them, allowing them to act as shriveled sentinels.

Further inspection of the house took me into a kitchen furnished by a hand that was no skint. Steel fridge-freezers, dishwashers, microwaves and sinks attempted to blind me in the late afternoon sun. Here, too, the walls were a creamy white, but the starkness of stainless steel and white were offset by a sky blue bench top and trimmings. The power still worked, but the stainless steel fridge was packed with perishable foods that were past their use-by date. Meat had turned rancid, and strawberries from Mata Mata (that were two thirds the size of my fist) were fuzzy with mould.

In the dining room, in pride of place on the clean glass table-top, the fruit bowl was home to browning bananas. In an equally clean laundry, the washing machine held clothes that were gently decaying in damp after just having been washed.

Someone had left in a hurry.

If they had left at all.

At least the handwritten note stuck under a cat magnet on the fridge indicated that Matheson hadn't sold me out. It was written in very feminine handwriting, and it said;

"_Tuesday: arrival of Chris, Jill, Barry, Henare, Claire and (?) Amanda S."_

Beside it was a note partially obscured; _"Sherry- please make sure groceries are stocked."_

I looked at the word 'Tuesday' for quite some time. There was no date, just the day. So... that meant the note had to be written sometime in the last seven days, didn't it? If it was written before that, it would have had 'Next Tuesday' or something.

So what had happened in the last seven days?

I stood a long time at the foot of the stairs, knowing that they would be just as deserted. Now I could smell the damp and the rot that living quarters get when they have been neglected –full of food and moisture- for a couple of days.

I mounted the stairs, marveling at how there were no creaky floorboards in the house. Up here, the bedroom doors were thrown back to invite the late sun. These rooms at least showed signs of being lived in- a book left open, a bed sloppily made, clean clothes folded and left on the corner of a bed. There was also a bathroom that shined more the crown jewels.

I went into a bedroom that seemed to belong to a teenaged girl. A white duchess was against the wall, snidely throwing my appearance back at me. The bedspread was black with multi-coloured polka dots. Various gadgets, books and products lined the shelves.

I took the book on the bedside table, delighted to find a diary. Could it possibly hold the answers to some questions? The first page opened with this entry...

"_After leaving home in such a rush, I left my old diary behind. Leon rolled his eyes when I told him, telling me that diaries were a great security risk and this turn of fate had done me a favour. I didn't listen to him though- I need to talk, and it isn't safe to talk to someone who can sell me out._"

I started reading again a couple of pages from the back, at the entry that read-

"_I hate being left alone! I told Alice that I would be able to take care of myself, but she just shook her head and said I was too much of a risk. Like I'd only get myself killed. Has she forgotten I survived through Raccoon City? I think her power is going to her head. Ever since she read those files that said she was the hero..._

…_the files are untrue..._

… _Alice didn't have anything to do with rescuing anyone at Raccoon City. She spent the time keeping one step ahead of Nemesis, unwittingly leading him onto Rebecca's friend Jill..._

_It was Claire and Leon who got me out of there. And there is no one called 'Angela Ashford'. They mean me. _

… _The files are full of lies…_

…_but Alice is beginning to believe they're true."_

Alice? The woman who had contacted me? From reading the girl's diary, it sounded like the woman was deluded. And, having read the files of Raccoon myself as a lesson in how not to foul-up, I knew there was no mention of Claire…

No mention of STARS, either.

And yet, if the files are true, the STARS had been hounded by Umbrella for no reason at all. I believed Matheson's tale of the STARS daring.

A brief memory of the meeting I'd had at Corwin's office earlier resurfaced- Wesker looking skywards as he said "I wouldn't trust files regarding the Hive too much."

And then, Harold Corwin's piercing glare. "Funny that."

I shrugged. So someone had fudged the files? What did that have to do with what was going on now? I flicked a couple of pages over and began reading again.

"_It's quiet with everyone gone. There's only me and Rebecca left. The day after tomorrow, the others are supposed to arrive. It should be fun. I need more people to talk to. This is starting to get boring._

_I've been neglecting my chores, like hanging out the washing and so on. At least I cut some sunflowers for the lounge and did some cleaning. Rebecca's always too busy researching herbs in her room and in the gardens to be much help with the housework. I'm far too young to be in charge, but what are you going to do?_

_I was really frustrated when I saw the strawberries were beginning to go a bit off. There's too much food here for just two people! No matter, tomorrow when I do all the housework, I'll freeze the meat."_

It was the last entry, and it did shed some light. But the intentions of the girl had never been carried out. The meat had never been frozen, and the washing had never been hung out. And that was two days ago.

I put the diary back thoughtfully.

It was now crystal clear- two woman (one a girl, really) had been left alone. With the others gone, they probably wouldn't have put up much of a fight. And now they were gone, with only an empty house and some drooping flowers to show for it. My theory? They had been attacked. Maybe this Alice had gotten too big for her breaches, and pissed someone off. Or their location had been leaked.

Alice... the woman who had asked me to get the files worked with Chris and Claire... which would be why the Redfields knew I had the files...

"So where did the others run off to without telling the STARS?"

The sound of my voice, sudden and loud, gave me a turn. My heart was beating like a jack hammer.

"Maybe," the sound is a whisper now, "it would be best not to stay in the same place for too long. Not with no clue as to what's going on."

I left the girl's bedroom. After a couple of steps, my interest was caught by one room that didn't have the door open to welcome me. I eyed it, feeling curiosity easily win me over. A thin line of light in sunset shades poured through the crack between door and doorjamb. It opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges, and I followed after it.

A ray of light poured through the open window, illuminating the odd spatter of stains on the white bedspread. I took a step further into the neat bedroom, past a bookcase with titles that ranged from Tom Clancy's _Netforce_ to a big encyclopedia named _A History of Healing Herbs, _to stand at the foot of the bed.

I froze.

When I finally showed movement, it was in the form of a carefully controlled breath. And another. Each was filled with unnecessary care, as if the control could change reality.

A young woman, probably my age, was sprawled on the floor. She was dressed casually in board shorts and a white t-shirt, her short hair unrestrained. It looked like she was ready for a day around the house, maybe with some sports thrown in.

The light from the open window highlighted the heavy vase in pieces around her, and the blood that covered a heart-shaped face, the covers, and the china shards. But what burned into my mind was the horrible way her eyes stared sightlessly out the window.

Like she was expecting salvation.

I closed my eyes, saying the only prayer I could- "God Bless"- before looking back at her. I swallowed, determined not to let my unhealthy dinner see the light of day again. I didn't know what to do. On TV and in movies, people shrieked or ran or fainted. None of these things were applicable.

I had to ring the others! The police!

But there was no phone.

I stared at a point near the ceiling, trying not to think her lolling head, or the drone of flies. There were millions of them, black squishy bodies –ridden with disease- feasting off the girl's life blood.

Panic surged through me. A set up? By the far-seeing HCF? Who had attacked her? A common house-breaker? A hit man? Who?

What if the murderer was still here… waiting?

Hairs prickled on the back on my neck. I spun round to find the room...

… Empty.

Just me and the horrible, bloated flies, and the husk of a girl who could only be Rebecca.

I glanced at her form again, seeing the blood spray on the windowsill and studying the damage without moving her. I could gather that the vase had hit her in the back of her head, and that she had bled slowly to oblivion.

An image reconstructed itself in my mind:

_She rolls off the bed towards the window, setting her book down on the pillow. "Get out of bed by putting your best foot forward," she says jokingly, making sure her right foot touches the ground first. She leans to open the window, peering out of it._

"_Sherry? Are you out there? Don't forget to do the washing!"_

_A man slips in, unnoticed. There are no tell-tale floorboard creaks or the scream of neglected hinges. Nothing belies his presence. The young woman straightens, oblivious, and puts her hands on her hips._

"_That's odd," she mutters._

_He picks up the delicate china vase with its blue oriental patterns on an ivory background, not to admire the exquisite detail but to judge its weight in his brutish palms. Before the woman is even aware of his presence, he throws it at the back of her head. _

_He can't tell if it breaks then, or when it hits the ground, or when she falls on top of it. If she's not dead already, he knows, then concussion and bleeding will take care of it. He slips away from his handiwork unnoticed, shutting the door behind him._

I let out a series of expletives that would make a sailor blush, all along the line of: "That god-forsaken-buggering-cowardly bastard got her in the back of the head?"

It was appalling, a crime most foul made worse by the cowardly conduct...

But there was no time to spend fuming.

I pulled the white bedspread off the bed, covering the girl as best I could. I couldn't stand the thought of leaving her at the mercy of the flies.

Then I backed out of the room, wishing there was something I could say – a prayer, a poem, anything- that could express a bystanders sorrow at such a waste of life. Before I went down the stairs I rechecked every room with a sickening efficiency, making sure no one was hiding.

Downstairs I went through the same procedure, trying not to think of the girl who lay dead above me. The result was the same- no one there. I grabbed the files off the coffee table, rolled them halfheartedly and stuffed them in my jeans pocket. As an afterthought, I took a big chef's knife from the kitchen knife-block. Not like I could do much with it, but having a weapon was reassuring.

_Right. Now where?_

I went out the back door to a concreted area. An empty washing line thrummed in a slight breeze. A pebbled path led to a corrugated iron shed. Thinking it might have something I could use as a weapon that would be more efficient than a kitchen knife; I headed in its direction.

The shed was sturdily built, but missing a handle. Having dealt with such doors before, I knew that opening one was easy enough. I put my pointer finger in the hole, finding the catch and pulling it down. The door swung open.

"Don't hurt me!"

I blinked in surprised.

"Please! Don't hurt me!"

A young girl, blonde and pale, was in the far end of the shed. Her arms were stretched out along the side of the wall, like she was trying to become part of it. Her face was strained and her eyes were focused on the kitchen knife. I lowered it.

"Who are you?" I asked, stunned.

"Sherry Birkin. Please don't hurt me! I won't do anything! I'll be good, just please don't hurt me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said, not particularly radiating friendliness – I was filled with far too much worry. "What's happened? How long have you been... on your own?"

"About a day," replied the girl, biting her lip worriedly. "Ever since Rebecca... ever since she died." I was fixed with an owlish stare. "You're really not going to hurt me?"

"I am not going to hurt you."

Sherry breathed a sigh of relief, evidently convinced. She brought her hands in front of her, and rubbed the wrist of her left hand. "So, what are we going to do now?"

I frowned, not knowing myself. "This island. Anyone else live on it?"

"No. But the mail boat comes past a couple of times a week."

"Where did the others go? The others who were living with you?"

She shrugged bitterly, reminding me of the entry in her diary. "To check out an Umbrella base, or something. The others weren't so keen to go- they said to wait until Chris and Claire got here, but Alice insisted." Her tone turned sour, "and whatever Alice wants, she gets."

"What were they going to do?"

"Just check the place out, I think."

There was an Umbrella base in the area- the one I was supposed to be taking STARS to, so HCF could get their information without running the risk of getting any personnel captured or killed. _Alice probably wanted to have the security down pat,_ my mind told me, _so that when you arrived she could create a good impression by having all that sorted._

"Stupid, stupid," I said, unintentionally. The girl- I placed her to be fifteen or younger- looked at me in surprise. "Come on; let's see if Chris and Henare are anywhere near. They should be here soon."

She nodded, moving towards me slowly and catlike. "What's your name?"

"Ruth," I supplied. As an afterthought, I asked, "Did you see the man who killed Rebecca?"

"Y's," choked Sherry. "Only, it wasn't a man."

Before I could say anything else, another voice broke the quiet.

"Hello?"

It was the cheery, loud tones of Henare!

"Matheson!" I yelled, "The shed!"

I took Sherry by the arm and led her to the house. She didn't seem too happy about the thought of going back into there, and I can't say I blamed her. But Matheson was on the other side, and he might know what to do.

"Where is everyone?" a female voice asked.

I bounded down the hallway to the lounge, knife in one hand, Sherry in the other. STARS all turned to me quickly, their brows wrinkled and anxious.

"What happened?" Jill repeated, her eyes narrowing in concern.

"They left, leaving Sherry and Rebecca behind to mind the house. But someone was here... they... they killed Rebecca." I held my hands (and the knife) up placatingly. "I'm sorry."

"She's dead?"

I didn't reply, knowing an affirmation was not what they needed. As the others exchanged looks of despair and words of sorrow and companionship, I looked at the floor, an intruder on grief. Below the sadness for Rebecca's passing, a survival instinct that could be called indifference was already beginning to set in.

Claire showed it by saying, "So. What now?"

Jill verified its presence by answering, "We can't stay here. The guy might come back. They know where we are. And we have to get Rebecca's body off the island."

"Where did they go? Why did they go without telling us? Would a phone call have killed them? I thought Carlos had more sense!" Chris threw his hands up in the air in distress.

"They went to the Umbrella base," Sherry said in a small voice,

"Which is where we need to go anyway," I carried on quickly, reaching for the unsightly protrusion of files and waving it at them. "We can see what Umbrella's getting up to and find the others at the same time."

"Well, it's not like we have a hell of a lot of choice," said Barry. "The decision now is where to go for the night, and..."

The unspoken 'and' was clear enough- _and what we're going to do with Rebecca's body_. Only ten minutes since they heard the news and already they had made the transition into survival mode. Grieving was a liberty they would use later. The priority was to stay alive,

I knew that. I had been taught it many times, in a classroom, in a lecturer room, with my instructor gazing down at me, trying to get me to understand that shelving moral requirements in favour of logic was a good thing. I had accepted the logic, but I had never seen someone turn to it so quickly before.

"Where is she?" Chris asked, quieter now.

"Upstairs. Bedroom."

They left quietly, leaving me and Sherry alone with the wilted sunflowers. I gazed at them, thinking how sunflowers at their brightest were such a good symbol of happiness and life. Seeing them wilted... it was like a sign. And not a welcome one.

"She called for me, you know."

Sherry's voice was quiet and sad. I looked at her. She was curled up in the corner of a couch, her knees drawn to her chin. Her shorts and shirt combined the interesting mix of bright orange and pink, but her face was not cheery. She looked at me like she wanted forgiveness, big blue eyes wide and ashamed.

"I saw the woman. And I knew she was no good. So I ran, I ran as fast as I could to the water's edge and hid among the rocks. I would've rowed away, but someone had left the rowboat on the other side. So I hid. And even there I could hear Rebecca call for me, wondering where I was. If I had only run to her, replied... said something..."

I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault- but I knew a little of how she felt. I remembered well, and still do, the feeling of guilt. The way you want to tell yourself it's not your fault, but you know a little bit of the blame was always yours. And no one, and no words, can change the knowledge.

"It'll be okay," I said, hating the lie as soon as it left my tongue. "Together, we'll keep the others safe. We'll take care of them."

She didn't answer, or even look at me, and I knew I had said the wrong thing. I thought it best to let her be alone, without the intrusion of a stranger. I was at the door when I heard her mumble through tear-choked sobs;

"Will we? Or will we end up letting them die?"

I turned away. Speculation wouldn't help.

_(Chapter 9 looming in the future. I hope you enjoyed)_


	10. 9 Weaknesses

_**Zarbok – **You had every reason to be pissed off, but I hope the Pack will soon regroup. As for this story, there should still be a few loops to go! _

_**Rain** – thanks for the review! Sorry about killing one of your favorite characters... I can be a bit of a Rebecca fan too. Is there anyone in particular you don't want me to kill off? I tried to update as fast as I could but my internet connection's been on the blink again – please don't hurt me!_

Chapter 9- Weaknesses

I found solace in solitude, hiding away in the empty kitchen. The sun had disappeared into the night, and the glowing numbers on the clock told me it was almost nine. Time sure had gone fast.

When I was younger, I had the rather odd yet strangely romantic desire to die in my prime- okay, so maybe just after leaving my prime. My mother, who worked as a nurse at the local hospital on night shift, would often come home tired and depressed, bringing with her stories of elderly people who had suffered strokes or falls. People who, despite all their accomplishments, had lost control of both their lives _and _their bladders.

As if incontinence itself wasn't embarrassing enough.

I didn't like the idea of being waited upon, of being helpless. I would rather be dead – it would be like being dead, anyway. At least if I were dead, I could keep my pride. And so the idea of dying before that happened seemed wildly appealing.

I was an odd child.

But then things like this happened. Things where people were untimely ripped from life. And then I would automatically think that they were too young- whether they were 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 or even upwards of 70. That it was not their proper time.

Hah, proper time. Like there is such a thing.

My mind is full of a great number of contradictions.

There was a gentle thump of footsteps that stirred me from my pensive musings. I went back into the hallway, seeing Claire as she finished her descent of the stairs. Her eyes were heavy when they fell on me, and for a brief second I could feel the rush of emotions that hid behind her determined façade.

"We have to stay here until tomorrow," she said quietly. "Rowing off the island in this light is too dangerous. We'll catch the mail boat- it comes past on Wednesdays at eight in the morning."

I nod.

"It's hard, you know?" Her eyes were bright as she searched my features. "I hadn't spoken to her for a while, and now she's dead. Dead, because the others didn't tell us they were gone. Stupid."

"Try not to blame anyone until we know what happened," I advised.

It was her turn to nod. Claire took a few deep breaths with closed eyes. When she opened them again, she was in a business frame of mind. She gave me another, shorter nod before turning on toe to go back up the stairs. I watched her until she disappeared from sight.

_So, we're staying for the night._

_In a remote house with a dead body_.

It sounded like something from a bad horror movie. Sighing, I went back into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. My mother the nurse had a strong belief in the calming effect of tea, and always offered it to her friends when they were distraught. Like a charm, the warm liquid seemed to melt away their tears.

I checked the fridge, seeing if any products were still useable. A large 2-litre container of milk said that by tomorrow it would be past its best-by, so I thought that would be okay to put in the tea. Everything else I decided to leave.

The last thing we needed was to get food poisoning.

Barry slipped into the kitchen just as the water finished boiling.

"Tea?" I offered.

"Sure," he replied heavily, leaning against the bench. He watched as I searched for the tea bags. "Two sugars and milk."

I handed him a warm cuppa. Barry didn't want to look at me, and so instead he concentrated his gaze on the cupboard opposite him. Respecting his silence, I made myself a cup of tea –also with sugar and milk – and drank it quietly.

I was halfway through my cuppa before he said, still not looking at me, "She's a good kid. It's a pity you didn't get a chance to know her. A real nice girl. Our medic, you know. I felt like she was one of my daughters."

He took a sip of the tea.

"And it's just not right. How did someone know about this place? And why would they leave without a word just like that, leaving Rebecca and Sherry by themselves with no way to contact us because the mail boat only comes on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays, the row boat was on the other side of the lake and there's no phone reception. That's not the way we work! We're supposed to be looking out for each other! After all we've been through together, we're family now."

He looked at me, his eyes a boiling mess of confusion and despair.

"I just can't understand it."

"I can't either," I told him softly.

I left him in the kitchen alone, catching a glimpse of Claire's yellow t-shirt with a heap of material in her arms as she went into the lounge. Though I was confused by this, I ignored it and went upstairs.

It took a lot of effort to get me up there. I didn't want to see her again.

Henare, who was still in his khaki guard uniform, was standing at the top of the stairs talking to Chris in hushed voices. They barely acknowledged me when I went through the middle of their conversations, but I didn't stay to listen to what they were talking about. If they were busy, it was fine by me.

I found Jill in Rebecca's room, kneeling beside her fallen friend's bed. Rebecca had been gently lifted and place on the bed, but the white bedspread only covered her body up to her neck. The pretty face looked restful. I hope she had found peace.

Jill was on the ground, Rebecca's blood staining her knees and hands as she scrubbed furiously at the floor. She was so involved in her work that she didn't notice me enter the room. Tear tracks glistened down her pale cheeks but her blue eyes were filled with a steely anger.

I was suddenly very glad I was on her side for this particular venture.

She caught sight of me eventually. "Hey."

"Hey." I felt awkward. "Are you... are you okay?"

Jill gestured to the bed. "I'm better than her," she said in voice that was strained and bitter. "But I'll be fine. I'll be fine. I just couldn't leave her life staining the floor."

I kneeled beside her, careful not to get any of the blood on my clothes and took a towel rag. Together we washed the floor with determined strokes. I thought that as I did so, Rebecca's soul was traveling to heaven. She was traveling faster the more blood we cleared up.

For some reason, the notion cheered me.

Except when grieving, I was doubtful about the idea of heaven and afterlife. Usually, I believed that when you were dead, you were dead. That was it, the end of the line. But I could not believe for one second that the cheery vitality or unchecked hate people can have would just evaporate, especially when faced with a death. It was at these times that I accepted with out question angels, heaven, hell, religion.

Jill thanked me with her eyes when the worst of the blood was lifted. I smiled reassuringly back at her. _We'll get them. I promise, we'll get them and stop them from doing anything like it again._

She left me alone in the room for a second. Rebecca's bedroom... a room that would probably never be used again. I wondered if the girl would take it upon herself to haunt the room. I wondered if she would be a friendly spirit or a malevolent poltergeist. But it was all speculation. I didn't believe in ghosts.

Although, I did have an experience when dealing with some, shall we say, less legal substances in which I _thought _I was talking with a ghost. I've never touched drugs again. It scared the shit out of me.

"Well, wherever you are Rebecca... I hope you're happy now."

Simple, but heartfelt.

I suffered the same terrible affliction my mum did – one that proved incredibly dangerous in her line of work. It was a strong belief in and manifestation of the idea that you didn't need to know a person to feel their loss.

Possibly it's one of the reasons I have such a bleak future in the viral universe. I know for a fact its one of the reasons I accepted Alice's offer.

When I walked through the door for the last time, when I glanced at the woman I had never known for the last time – wishing only everlasting happiness on her – I could've sworn she was smiling.

She can't have been... but it's a nice thought.

I went to the clean bathroom and thoroughly washed my hands. Once again my appearance appeared in the mirror to spite me. This time I didn't even bother picking out the flaws. What use would it do? It wouldn't change them.

On my way back to the lounge I picked up Chris and Henare. When we got there, Barry had made everyone tea and was sitting in a chair. Claire and Sherry were leaning against each other on the couch, their lower halves covered by a thick blanket. Other blankets were in a heap on the ground- what Claire had taken down earlier, I guess.

It looked like no one wanted to be alone in their rooms tonight.

"What are we going to do?" Claire asked, her hand resting on Sherry's flaxen hair.

"We'll have to go check out the Umbrella base," the older Redfield said matter-of-factly. "See if we can find the others. Obviously something's gone terribly wrong."

"So does anyone know where this facility really is?" I asked. All I had got out of Corwin was that it was somewhere in the Marlborough Sounds. Like that narrowed it down.

"Yeah," Jill said. She drew my attention to the bag I had seen her gathering files into in the morning – was it only this morning? It seemed like years ago. "Carlos got them and gave them to Williams – you know, our boss- who gave them to us. It's not far from here, actually."

"So anyone know what we'll find in there?" Matheson glared out the window forbiddingly. "'Cause I for one don't think it'll be a welcome wagon."

I reached toward the unsightly bulge the rolled-up files made in my jeans pocket and waved them like a trophy. "Hopefully these will tell us something."

The AVO's all looked at me, stunned.

"You got them?" Chris gushed "But I thought Wesker would have taken them from you when he got you in the car park!"

"He did," I admitted, "but HCF gave them back to me, minus a few. They seemed to want me to go to the Umbrella lab – looks like at the moment there's a common goal. That's why I'm not a blob of tomato sauce at the moment."

"Well, that's not suspicious at all," Claire commented sarcastically. "What are we up against now, indestructible zombie bears with nine-foot tongues and iron claws?"

"HCF just let you go? Just like that?" I was the subject of Jill's piercing gaze.

"They want me to mess up a project Umbrella's working on and bring them back any important looking documents... said I'd be monitored so I'd better not betray them..."

Oh fudge. I hope telling AVO all about it didn't come under the heading of 'betrayal'.

"What?!" she screeched. "You're wearing a wire?"

"Not that I know of."

"We're being followed?"

I looked around uncomfortably. Why hadn't I remembered Corwin's warning before? "Again, not that I know of."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Barry demanded.

"It wasn't like I got a chance! I went straight from the meeting to the doctor, and straight from there to here. Matheson was with me almost the entire time, but him taking me to you lot was the last thing on my mind. So when he dragged me here, I was more than a little surprised. And so... I forgot all about it."

Rather a lame excuse. Why did I always forget important things?

"Nothing we can do about it now," Sherry commented. Her eyes were closing despite her best efforts to stay awake.

An astute comment from a severely tired and shell-shocked teen.

"She's right," Jill verified. "Stick to the present. So HCF thinks we'll be doing them a favour if we take Umbrella down. Look on the bright side; at least we'll only be dealing with Umbrella."

"And hey," said a visibly brightened Chris, "if there's no HCF, then there's no Wesker after us!"

"Unless he's the one following to make sure Ruth doesn't betray us."

Thank you, Barry the pessimist.

"Wesker's too high up in HCF to be assigned child-care duties."

"Child? Who are you calling child?"

"We're getting off track," Matheson observed. "Stick to the problem at hand. We need to find out what's in Umbrella's project. I mean, I can pick up a lot from work, but everyone's tight-lipped about what Umbrella is up to now."

"Alice said it was something to do with kids when she contacted me," I said, remembering the conversation from a life-time ago.

"Fetuses, actually." Barry's mouth set in a grim line. "They were doing something with human fetuses."

Euw.

I handed out some stacks of paper to the AVO's. Time to see what the fuss was all about.

The information the files had was scanty and disappointing. After all the drama about them I at least expected pictures and detailed plans of some evil idea.

_Bet Corwin filched all those files._

The stack I had were sheets full of testing results, written in a cramped, loopy shorthand and riddled with scientific jargon. Even if I could decipher the horrible handwriting I doubted I would understand much. It all seemed to be about cell division and replication. I shared my thoughts with the others.

"Genetics? Well that can't be good," said Claire.

Chris had personnel files- my brother's included. They were of the team that went to investigate the Hive, none of which returned. I have reason to believe that the STARS gang came across them when they joined the mansion party later.

Maybe they came and put the zombie-replica of my brother out of his misery.

"There's a scribbled _post-it_ note," Chris told us, "It says the files are only here because research 'Pancreas' might provide opportunities to find out what really happened the night the virus was spilled. It's very vague. I think someone put them in without really knowing what they were doing."

Claire also had testing results and what looked like a list of codes.

"No," Jill said, looking over her shoulder, "that's a list of names! They must be all the mothers of the unborn fetuses."

Jill and Barry said their files required calculus and a diabolic mind combined to get any sense of.

Henare had better luck- also personnel files. They were those of an Ashford A, Ashford A PhD, Birkin W PhD.

Sherry gave a start when she heard the last name. "Daddy?" she whispered.

I felt like smacking myself in the head. _Birkin!_ Of course! How could I have missed that? Doctor William Birkin was married to that scientist, Annette, and they had a daughter called Sherry.

I had heard through the grapevine that Birkin had chosen the path of G-virus. He was very definitely dead. And so were the Ashford duo. Oh, there had been a lot of talk about _those_ disturbing twins around the HCF water-cooler.

"Why are their files there?" Jill wondered. "Okay, I can see why Alexia's and Birkin's if the research was related to their own, but Alfred? What the hell?"

"It is Alfred Ashford's, isn't it?" Barry asked. "Not Alexander Ashford?"

"Alfred," Henare clarified. "The birth dates on the Ashford files mean it's the twins."

I cursed Corwin for censoring the files. It meant that we would be flying blind.

The papers slipped out my hand, but thankfully didn't go everywhere and create a big mess. I gathered them up with a faint blush, but no one seemed to have noticed. It was this uncoordination that resulted in some luck. A small, purple piece of paper that had previously been overlooked caught me eye.

I held it up, reading the neat writing in a small rounded script aloud.

"When an electron's orbit of the protons-neutrons is reversed, an electron of the same atom that can be miles away does the same."

The STARS looked at me in surprise, but I barely registered their glances. I stared at it, knowing it to be an extract from a paper on scientific progress.

"_Do you know what this means?"_ my friend, a chemistry major, had whispered excitedly. _"It means that basic, very basic telepathy is actually possible. It can't be used yet, oh no, and I doubt humanity will ever be able to communicate via electron orbit like you see in stories, but the parts of atoms can communicate no matter the distance! But only within a single atom – it has to be part of the whole."_

I hadn't been as excited over this knowledge as my friend, thinking it knowledge for knowledge's sake. After all, what use did communicative electrons have, even if they're antics were fascinating? And I certainly hadn't expected to find it in Umbrella files.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chris Redfield took the paper from my hands and looked at the writing, as if seeing it for himself would make it clearer.

I quickly brought the others up to speed with the little I knew, finishing by telling them, "Umbrella's wasting their time with research on this. It can't be used for anything."

They stared at the scrap in Chris's hand.

"Obviously it can be," said Jill quietly.

"Well," Matheson stated, "I'm curious to find out what they're doing if my boss feels threatened by it, but these don't tell us what we're up against. So, oh-fearless-leader, what do you suggest?"

Chris narrowed his eyes in mock anger at the slur on his love for leadership, but when he spoke he was jovial and lighthearted. "I guess we'll just have to be well-armed when we go to take down Umbrella tomorrow."

No one disagreed or protested. Tomorrow it is.

"We'll stay here for the night," Barry said, usurping Chris's power. "We can't get anywhere anyway. Tomorrow we'll take Rebecca's body to the morgue?"

Sherry sighed sleepily. "Cremation. She said she wanted to be cremated and the ashes used to grow her special healing herbs. She said a body would be full of nutrients for the plants, and then she'd be able to go on with her medical help even after her death."

Wow.

"Then cremated she shall be."

"What if they ask questions?" Jill asked.

"We'll think of something,'" answered Chris.

"And what about..." Jill mouthed 'Sherry'.

The men's eyes fell on the sleepy girl. Who could they leave her with and know she would be safe? Only one of us, and I didn't see anyone volunteering. Not because everyone really enjoyed risking their lives, but because no one wanted to be seen to weasel out.

Sort of the same reason why no one likes eating the last slice of cake.

"Maybe Claire could stay back?" Chris suggested. I could tell he was happy about having the chance of keeping his sister out of harms way.

"Not a chance," she shot back. Her eyes may have been closed but her spirit wasn't dulled by tiredness. "I'm not going to sit around while the people I care about are in danger."

As if thinking of something, she turned her head to look at me, her eyes open and searching. "Speaking of people I care about," she said more softly, "do you know if HCF has anyone in their charge called 'Steve Burnside'?"

I shook my head.

"Henare neither." She sighed. "I know they have him somewhere. I'm going to find him."

Suddenly her odd behavior when we went to _Burnside _High School made perfect sense. Despite her almost casual tone, it is obvious she cares a great deal for the man.

Out of pity, I told her, "Next time we're near an HCF mainframe, I'll try to see what I can find out. I'm not the world's best hacker, but sometimes, if you get lucky..."

"Thank you."

"We can discuss what we'll do about Sherry tomorrow," Jill murmured, her eye on the girl under discussion. Sherry was evidently asleep even as we talked. Either that or faking very well.

Barry agrees. "She's right. We all need our beauty sleep. Chris especially."

The default leader gave the smirking Barry an evil eye before giving into a short burst of laughter. "He's right, though," he conceded. "So don't wake me up until I look handsome."

"It'll be a while, then."

Gradually, the conversation petered out. Someone turned out the light but no one left the room. We each got blankets and picked a corner of the room to make our own for the night. Even though it was only just turning ten o'clock, the room was soon full of the sounds that came with sleep – a gentle snuffle there, a sigh, and the heavy rhythmic breaths.

Despite the trying day, sleep wouldn't come to me.

I rolled onto my stomach and saw an equally awake Chris gazing at the ceiling. His eyes seemed oddly blank from the angle. He was completely motionless.

For a while I just lay there, holding my breath and watching him, fearing he was dead. Then, finally, he sighed quietly. The movement of his chest as he reached for another breath was unmistakably clear.

I let out a breath of my own. _Did you really think he was dead? Oh my god! I'm ashamed to be a part of you!_

I really hate that inner voice.

It seems to love putting the boot in when I'm down.

I crawled over to the still man. "I'm going to go and keep watch," I whispered to him, "I can't sleep and with every second I'm getting edgier."

He nodded. "Good idea."

Not that there was much to watch, but at least my insomnia was proving to be useful. I set up camp in the kitchen, enlisting the help of tea to calm my nerves. After all, tea is known to have the opposite effect of coffee. I wasn't aiming to keep a lonely guard all night long - only until sleep embraced me.

It should have been boring work, but my thought process was working slowly and disjointedly.

_I wonder what my friends are going to think... by tomorrow at ten they'll know something's wrong... I'm supposed to meet them at ten tomorrow…_

_... is it ten? Or is it one?_

_Imagine bleeding to death all by yourself..._

_... I wonder where Kavik is now... I hope he's doing okay..._

_... who killed her? Who could honestly kill someone like that? Were they working for HCF? HCF would definitely be able to find out their location… but why bother if I'm going to meet up with them and march towards certain doom in the next couple of days?_

_... maybe it was at eleven for an early lunch..._

"You okay?"

Chris's voice was gentle, but it didn't stop me from jumping a distance that would have made an Olympic high jumper impressed. He grinned a bit to himself at my surprise, and even more so when he saw the faint pink of embarrassment rushing to colour my cheeks.

"I thought HCF trained their staff to be alert at all times?"

I muttered something about being out of practice and quickly took another gulp of tea.

"Will you be able to help out tomorrow?"

I looked at him, seeing his grayish eyes completely serious. "What do you mean?"

He looked away. "I know everyone I work with. Perhaps excluding my bosses. But I know the strengths and weaknesses of everyone on this team. For example, I know my sister Claire can use her temper to her advantage, but I know her weakness is that she can't back down from a fight. I know the same for Jill and for Barry, and as far as I know, Henare's only weakness is his inability to keep quiet. What about you?"

_Yeah, what about me?_

I stared at him for quite a while, thinking. All my faults rushed to fill the void:

_I'm too cowardly_

_I'm too panicky_

_I'm too forgetful_

_I'm too curious_

"I have many weaknesses," I managed.

"And what about your strengths?"

I glanced sharply at him, half expecting him to be making fun of me. But he knew that there was a time for joviality and a time for seriousness, and his face instead showed an indifferent curiosity.

"My strengths?"

"Your strengths."

I stared at him in dumbfounded horror. _I have no strengths. That's why I'm a run of the mill employee. There's a reason I'm referred to as 'zombie chow' by people like Matheson._

_There must be a reason Alice and STARS contacted you,_ another voice countered.

_Because of my brother?_

_I can do some limited hacking. I know how to fight. I can Steal the Flag from the top HCF security team. I'm determined to get out with my skin intact. Surviving is the only thing that really matters to me._

"I'll get the job done," I finally tell him. "That is my strength. Whatever you ask me to do will get done."

* * *

(_and there you have it. Before I begin on the next chapter, I must ask you one question: Do you want Sherry to stay in the fic? Or do you want her to stay behind? What do you think?)_


	11. 10 Room Inspection

_**I return. Look at me. Returning. Aha.**_

_**Zarbok** – thank you for your praise! The latest chapter was the hardest for me to write, because I had so many thoughts I wanted to put into it. The first bit was related to me as well, as I work in a rest home. All the residents there are very old and most senile, and a lot of them are on death's door at the moment. Not for me, no way. I'm glad there's someone else who knows what I mean – you have to be a special type of person to survive in that line of work for long. It's terrible. Everyone keeps dying._

_**Rain- **you're right, it's easier if I leave her behind, but this means I have to leave someone else behind who by default must be Claire – something I was trying to avoid. Ha, I'm glad you're not going to hurt me! My plot is finicky and workload large, and to top it off I have to find some time to do Christmas shopping! But I think I'll be moving faster. Thank you so much for your heart-warming review! You may give me a hard time- good life skills!_

_**CassSpaz- **Thank you for all your reviews! I got home after a really wrenching shift at work, despondently checked my emails and there they were – talk about happiness in a can! I didn't realize my writing could be stilted. Occasionally in some chapters I have tried to do it to show Ruth's uncomfortableness (like that's a word) or her preoccupiedness (hah, necessity, the mother of invention). Can you tell me if you pick up on it again, so I can cull out the habit?_

_Yes, the full story of Coral Burrows is heart wrenching. My entire country was in outrage. I almost cried myself when I heard about it. She was the cutest kid, and what happened to her was so sad. Her stepfather should burn in hell._

_I also am not an Alice fan. I'm so happy you picked up she was going crazy! I was like: "(sigh), I wonder if anyone will figure out what I'm trying to say here" without making her diabolical insane and you did! YAY! Not that I was being super subtle._

_They got over Rebecca's death fast? Oops! I was trying to show through the cleaning up blood, conversations, etc, that they were only trying to act like they had – putting it on the back burner, or something. Ruth never really knew the girl, so her ideas would be of indifferent sympathy. Must've overshot. And you're right about Sherry, though I am of the belief that if anyone can juggle life, anything after that is easy. _

_Oh my god – I'm going philosophical! Onto the story before hell freezes over._

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 10 – Room Inspection**

The morning woke me slowly, and my thoughts began to form like dripping molasses. I stayed still for as long as I could, keeping my eyes shut and trying to summon back the sandman. He refused to answer my desperate entreaties, and gradually, grudgingly, I returned to the land of the living.

I opened my eyes. Already the sunrise had been, and the pale yellow light of morning splashed into the curtain-less room.

"Ah, you're awake!" Jill's very cheerful voice sounded near by. "Are you a morning person?"

"I'll tell you when it's morning," I grumbled, trying without success to grasp the contented, sleepy wave.

She laughed quietly, jolting sleep out of my reach. "It's already half past six. Everyone has to be up and ready to go in an hour and a half. So get moving! There's a lot of work to do!"

I gathered my strength and sat up. In the room, two other indistinguishable and obstinate sleepers were still away in dream land, but the small island was surely waking. Time for me to wake up properly. I hauled myself to my feet and staggered through the door way to get to the kitchen.

"Morning," greeted Chris, his voice low. He waved a salute with his coffee cup. "Sleep well?"

I shrugged. "More or less."

"You like cornflakes? I don't know how much milk is left, but we have cornflakes for Africa."

He was right; there was an insanely large amount of boxes proclaiming _Skippy's Cornflakes_ in the kitchen. The mascot kangaroo, presumably Skippy himself, smiled at me winsomely, trying to convince me that it was a good idea to eat the contents of the box.

I was less than ready to agree – I have never been fond of breakfast cereals in general – but after the excitement of yesterday, could agree that eating breakfastr was very important.

The kangaroo's grin widened when I poured some cornflakes into a bowl, splashed in milk and added a liberal amount of sugar. I leaned against the bench and crunched away steadily.

"Do you like milk and cornflakes with your sugar?" Chris teased. "You're even worse than my sister! I didn't think that was possible!"

"Talking about me?" Claire asked. She entered the kitchen with messy hair, bleary eyes and a slack expression. Evidently she'd just been booted out of bed by Jill as well. The Valentine woman was merciless.

"Just commenting on my method of making cornflakes,' I said.

There was a pause that turned tense as the siblings refused to make eye contact. I shifted uncomfortably, wielding my spoon like a champion breakfast-eater but never eating so much as a single flake.

"Claire," Chris began, his voice hesitant. "We really need someone to stay back and look after Sherry. We can't let her come with us. It's too dangerous, and she could turn out to be a liability. And after the mention of her father... I don't want to subject her to any more emotional pain than is really necessary."

"And you want me to be the person to stay behind." Her voice was steady with barely controlled anger.

_From consciousness to pissed in thirty seconds. That has to be a world record._

"I don't want to risk you," he said quietly.

I wondered if now would be a good time to leave.

"Bullshit! Chris, I've done heaps of things like this before. I'm not helpless, and I'm not going to be a liability. I'm not a kid! Or have you forgotten the run in with the Ashfords and Raccoon City already?"

"I know you're not a kid. But we need someone to take care of Sherry, and the only people we can trust are _us._"

"And of the entire group, I'm the one who's the least help? I'm the one no one wants there? Nobody trusts me? Is that it?"

Chris rubbed his free hand over his forehead. "Claire, don't make this any worse than it is. You know we all trust you and respect you. But we need Henare and Ruth, and out of those who remain –Barry, Jill, you and myself – you're the one with the least experience. Claire - "

"This stinks," she said angrily. In a blur of furious movement, she was gone.

Chris stared after her, a mix of exasperation and unhappiness, his coffee long forgotten. I looked at my similarly forgotten breakfast, finding it limp, soggy and even more unappetizing than before. It was quickly binned.

Why are all breakfast cereals so gross?

Chris sighed and emptied his cup. "Okay. That went well."

I pulled a face in acknowledgement.

"Tell me, do you think I made the right choice?"

"Yes," I admitted, "but I can understand why she's upset. Maybe you should let Jill talk to her. She seems like she's got her head on straight and would know what to say."

"Yeah. Maybe."

The air was thick with confusion and mild desperation. It pressed down on us like gravity, but from all sides – a smothering, suffocating atmosphere. We needed to get moving, to be doing something that occupied us before we all went totally mad.

"All I want is to keep her safe."

_She's never going to be safe. Not after what you've been doing. Look at Rebecca; who was she hurting?_

"Yeah. Anything you want me to do before we leave today?" I asked, eager to change the mood.

"Barry and I are going to take care of Rebecca," he said moodily. "Claire _will _end up taking care of Sherry, I know she will. She just needs some time to let off steam. That leaves you, Henare and Jill to take care of the house and get together everything we'll need for tonight. Jill will probably be able to tell you more."

I nodded, and left the kitchen.

It was a pity that Claire wasn't going to come with us. Sometimes you need a firebrand with strength of character just to keep you going, just to keep life bearable. After the initial animosity she had shown me, she was increasingly becoming somebody I wanted to know.

_I wonder if Chris let her come and get me out of the hospital because he never intended on letting her come with us to the Umbrella base._

Chris was right. Somebody had to stay behind and look after Sherry, and Claire was the logical choice.

Logic sucks.

The lounge was deserted, and all the bedding that had been used gone. I could hear the distant whir of the washing machine, and surmised that they were being cleaned. I looked at the room, feeling the comfortable presence of... something else.

"Morning." A pale smile formed on Matheson's lips. I turned towards him where he stood in the doorway.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

He gave me a disbelieving look. "On the night when and in the house where I found a friend murdered? Please."

I lowered my gaze in shame. "Sorry."

His next words, however, were not angry. "It's easy to forget how everyone feels in this group. They're so used to death hovering above them that it's become easy to push it aside – but don't mistake this for indifference."

"Matheson. I went through HCF training. Everyone says we have indifference beaten into us, so strongly it affects our DNA structure. But this... these people are inhuman."

Again, that pale, unhappy smile. "It is a skill of Umbrella that they make the human inhuman."

I closed my eyes in silent acquiescence. When I opened them, he was gone, and once again I was alone.

_Alone. Alone. Alone._

That word was becoming horribly familiar.

Like in the weeks past, I fobbed my friends away in case Umbrella was looking for me. The last thing I wanted to do was get them in trouble. And so I spent the time in a dingy hotel, too afraid to do much. Unreachable. It was the worst experience I suffered through in a long time.

"There you are!" Jill materialized in the room. "We have to get the house clean before we leave. It's part of the agreement with Matheson's family."

"So far it looks like you've been doing okay," I said, thinking of the tidy bathroom and kitchen.

She shrugged, and I began to suspect I had once again said the wrong thing. In a desperate attempt to make things better, I blurted out, "You take down here. I'll do upstairs."

Once again, she shrugged. It was a gesture that seemed very uncharacteristic for the woman whom I had tagged as being one of the most valuable in the AVO group. "If you see any files or anything, bag them so we can take them away with us. That's anything that could get Matheson in trouble with Umbrella or the local authorities."

I nodded, opted to keep my mouth shut, and headed up the steps.

"And Ruth?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," was my quiet reply. I continued my ascent of the stairs.

The rooms up here were becoming increasingly familiar, even though I had only been in three of them. I tried desperately not to look in at Rebecca, but I couldn't help it. A surreptitious glance was all it took to tell me that her body had gone. Barry and Chris must already be at work.

I decided to keep her room until last.

The first room had a sloppily made bed. Upon seeing this, I went back into the hallway and called out "Does anyone know where the linen closet is?"

"Yeah," Henare's voice carried back, "It's upstairs – the door next to the bathroom."

"Thank you."

I had to unmake the bed and then remake it with the fresh sheets. Mercifully, this task proved to be more strenuous than usual, and helped occupy my mind. Automatically this made it a welcome endeavour.

I stood back and admired my handiwork. The bed was the epitome of neat. The sheets were crisp and the pillows perfectly, impersonally arranged. My 'hospital corners' looked as sharp as razor blades. Without a doubt, it was one of the most military-looking arrangements I had ever seen.

Once again I had to dash into the hallway and call to the heavens, "What do I do with clothes and that sort of thing?"

This time it was Jill who replied. "Leave them. We'll probably come back. Just make sure there's nothing incriminating in the room."

I riffled through the draws, feeling slightly embarrassed on the owner's behalf. There was nothing, just clothes, hair gel and a '_lynx'_ deodorant spray.

_Typical man's room, _I thought, _an unmade bed the only sign of inhabitance._

I bundled the sheets to be cleaned into the hallway and left them there in a pile. Then I continued on my purging mission.

The next room had a pile of men's clothes on the bed. I transferred them to the corner of a set of drawers, and remade this bed as well. Amazingly, I was getting faster. Soon there was a chance I could qualify in a bed-makers' race.

In this room there were more personal items – a magazine of cars with a bit of paper to signify the page that had a picture of a souped-up Cadillac, a book, a photo of an African-American man and two women.

I put them on top of the pile of clothes, hiding the photo in the magazine. Just in case.

Onto the next room. It was the room of Sherry in all its polka-dot sheet glory. There were many personal items here, including the diary that had proved so useful. I wanted to see if there was a new entry, and fought with my conscience over it. Eventually, curiousity won, but it had not been touched since I read it yesterday.

The next room I went into was also a man's room. A wallet had been left conveniently on a shelf, and the drivers license in it said it was the property of a Mister L S Kennedy. He was a donor, unmarried and had a blood type that was obscured by a warp in the plastic coating. Once again, nothing incriminating. I was breezing through the rooms now, my rigid hospital corners gradually growing messier.

I skipped Rebecca's room. I didn't want to go in there quite yet.

I instead checked the bathroom, changing the towels and flannels, before going into the only other bedroom. It had to be Alice's.

The room was almost empty, exactly what I would have expected of her. The bed looked like it had never been used. The single window opposite the door had a screen over it to keep the annoying sandflies out, and a set of drawers with a small mirror was next to the wardrobe.

The drawers had only this mirror and a hairbrush on it.

I changed the bed covers anyway, and then set about seeing what I could find out from this austere room. I was about to give up hope of ever getting into the woman's mind when – in some hopeful inspiration – I checked under the bed.

There was nothing there, but as I got up I caught the black cover of a small book sticking out of the mattress.

_How did I miss that?_

I pulled it towards me. The black leather-bound book had _Personal Journal _emblazoned across the cover in gold. It was not an expensive looking book – merely the kind you could get from any bookstore for a modest price. I held in my hand, running a finger over the gold words, wondering what I would find in it.

_Huh. A girl like Sherry has a 'diary' but for Alice it's a 'personal journal'. Somehow, that does not surprise me._

I pocketed it, feeling less than guilty, and went to prepare Rebecca's room.

At least, that was what I planned to do. I nearly bumped into Henare as I was halfway through the door.

"Hey, slow down there, soldier," he said quietly, "I'm on the house-cleaning committee too, remember? I've done her room. I felt it was something I needed to do." He cast a sad glance over the soulless bedroom.

"Thank you," I murmured, in absence of anything else to say.

"We're going to miss her," said Henare, his voice becoming falsely happy. "Hell, we've already been hit hard. Let's dedicate this particular face-off with Umbrella to her. That had better make us succeed."

"I don't think we need to." Jill, softly, joined the conversation. "I think she knows we loved her, and will miss her. That's the greatest dedication we can give her- a section of our memories."

There was a pause pregnant with emotion.

"But let's get going. I still have work to do downstairs; I came up for a ragged towel. Because Chris asked me to, I had a chat with both Claire and Sherry. Not an easy task. So I'm already getting behind."

"What about the washing?" I asked, gesturing to the mound of bedsheets.

"Laundry," Matheson said. "See how much we can do. Probably not even a full cycle"

Jill had done a good job on cleaning the downstairs rooms so far – not that they needed much cleaning anyway. The house smelt fresh and clean. No one would have suspected the tragedy that had happened here.

I sailed through the rooms, struggling with the many sheets, until finally I ended up in the laundry. The cycle that had been going earlier had recently finished. Being the good Samaritan that I am, I reluctantly pulled the freshly cleaned clothes into the plastic washing basket before hoisting most of the sheets in. Triumphant, I slammed down the lid, added the detergent and set the machine off again.

And then I glowered at the basket of washing before me. Now I had to go hang _this _out on the line.

It was far enough through the morning by now that the weather could begin to show itself. The sun still did not have much warmth, but judging by the general lack of clouds, this would be a problem. It was going to be a burner.

As I was hanging the washing up – a task I have hated since childhood, born, I think, from a love of procrastination – I could hear the roar of a vacuum cleaner starting up inside.

"Cleaning? This early in the morning." I sighed at the shirt I was hanging up. A faded picture of Mickey Mouse hang limply on the line, listening. "No one would ever have believed it."

"Terrible, isn't it?" Claire was coming down the path that led to the shed where I had first met Sherry. "Less than a day knowing these people and they already have you dropping your bad habits like last weeks garbage."

She had changed her crumpled jeans and yellow t-shirt that she was wearing when she woke, instead wearing clothes she must have found in the house; three-quarter cargo pants and red singlet that read _'if you're close enough to read this, you're close enough to be indecently assaulted by the three squirrels in my handbag'._

I raised my eyebrow.

She followed my gaze. "Oh," she said, blushing, "It's Rebecca's. Her sense of humour is slightly quirky."

I noticed the present tense, but decided against saying anything. "It's... interesting," I offered.

Claire took an item of clothing from the washing basket and pegged it to the line. "Look... I'm sorry you were there when my brother and I... you know..."

"It's okay."

"I just..." She paused in hanging up a sock. "Do you ever get the feeling that, even if you can't change something that will happen, its better if you're there? Somehow your presence makes it all better?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I just can't stand the thought of sitting around while you lot are dying," she said, suddenly all angry again. "I know someone has to take care of Sherry, and she knows me the best, and it _should_, by all means, be _me_ who has to stay behind but I _really_ wish it wasn't!"

The volume escalated with every word she spoke.

"Claire," I said carefully, "the murderer is still out there. Who knows what they were thinking or what they were after, but the woman was definitely not a thief. Nothing's missing."

"Nothing we know about anyway."

"The point is," I continued, "the killer's still running free somewhere, and you might have to protect yourself and Sherry against her. You might be facing a bit of danger yourself."

"Maybe," she admitted, "but I wish I was there to make sure nothing happened to you lot." She leaned towards me, a conspirator. "It's not just the sitting around like a sissy and worrying, but I don't like missing out on the adventure!"

"Adrenaline junkie. Stick to roller-coasters. There's a better way than trying to get yourself killed."

"Hey!" Henare shouted from the second story window. "Are you two gossips going to stand there gabbing all day or give the rest of us a hand?"

We shared guilty looks and quickly hung out the rest of the washing.

At ten to eight, all the residents of the island were gathered in the lounge, minus Barry. Chris explained this by saying he was on the jetty talking to the mail-boat driver, a local who went by the name Shaun. The impromptu meeting had been called because of a slight change of plans.

"Quite frankly, we're all too fat to get on the boat without it sinking," summed up Chris.

"I blame Jill," Henare joked, "I told her she'd regret eating that chocolate-chip muffin on Saturday."

"_Anyway,_" the default leader continued, "Shaun said he'd probably be able to swing past at ten and take the rest of us to the main-land. Said he was very upset to hear about Rebecca's death, was very spooked and offered to call the police for us. Then he realized there was no cellphone coverage."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth." After a reflective pause, he paled. "We interfered in the crime scene! If the cops come in to check it out – which they will, because Shaun isn't exactly the silent type – they could suspect it was us."

"Cross that bridge later," advised Matheson, humor gone. "Its bad enough loosing the girl without worrying about being a suspect in her murder."

"We don't even have alibis I'm prepared to tell the court," he moaned.

"Later, Chris."

"Right. Yeah. So, Barry, Rebecca and Shaun are heading off to the mainland. I'm going to row over there and join Barry in taking Bec's to the morgue. It could take a while. We have to travel to Blenheim, and then there's questions... Stay in town, if we're not back by ten. Get together all you can – compasses, handy belts, camo clothes. And good shoes. Anything that could come in handy. You get me?"

"We got it," Jill said.

"Claire... Sherry... go to Wellington. Take the ferry or a plane, whatever comes first. Stay in a reputable hotel where you'll be safe. The mailboat will take you to the mainland, and then Matheson says you can take his car. Have your phone with you. We'll get in contact when it's safe."

The two youngest nodded.

"I've got to go," he looked at the ensemble around him. "Take care until I see you. Remember, don't leave the main streets of town. I can find you there."

He turned towards his sister, his voice loosing its official and anxious tone to become soft. "Here, my credit card. Try not to spend up too large." He hugged her briefly. "Take care of yourself."

"I will. You be extra cautious, okay? I want to be able to be angry with you for not taking me along in a couple of days."

"You got it." He gave her another hug. "Be careful."

Goodbyes were exchanged, and then he was gone. We'd see him in a few hours – well, Henare, Jill and I would – but it seemed odd that he would be out of calling distance until whenever they got back. Barry didn't even get a chance to bid Sherry and Claire goodbye.

After he had gone, we who remained stayed in the lounge for a few minutes.

"There's not much to do," Matheson said, voicing the idea on everyone's minds. "All the cleaning and stuff is down, and we can't do any supply gathering until we get to town. That means we have two hours to sit and think. I'd really hoped I could avoid thinking until after this whole 'lets-invade-Umbrella' thing was over."

Jill sighed, twisting an errant strand of reddy hair in her fingers. She'd been staring after Chris long since he disappeared from sight. "I know what you mean. But I'll go have a shower, if there's any water left with the washing machine going. No one go too far away, okay? We don't know if the island is safe."

After hearing that, I was in no mood to go haring off by myself.

Gradually, the others left the lounge one by one. Matheson went out the back door, claiming he needed a nicotine fix. Claire went to sit on the front porch with the spiders. Sherry went up to her room. I remained on the couch, lying back on it and drawing out of my pocket the slim, small book I had found in Alice's room.

_This should be interesting._

It was full of writing that lacked a calligrapher's polish, and was, indeed, neither the tidiest nor the most elegant script I had seen. But at least it was legible. At least there was writing.

"Okay, Miss Alice," I murmured, holding the book inches above my face. "Let's see if you turned turn-coat."

* * *

_(And there we go! Hmm, ten real chapters. That means the next thing I'll post will be slightly different... a trend is going to appear soon.)_


	12. Breaker

_**Zarbok – **holy hell! All those injuries? That's insane! Lucky your uncle is a doctor! I can understand what you mean about enjoying fighting against an equal... even though anyone could bowl me over with ease -.-' Its so much.... better....than just wiping out someone who doesn't even deserve to be an opponent. Heh heh heh, you'll find the answers soon enough Thanks for the review!_

_**Rain – **yay! I'm glad you liked this chapter! I agree, the t-shirt is cool. Everyone should have one. Ergh, Alice shouldn't exist. I think the story was fine without her! Besides, they cut out so many of the original characters it can barely be called Resident Evil. Anyway, before I launch into a big rant, thank you!_

_**CassSpaz – **I understand about school. Thankfully I'm finished until sometime early February. I love summer holidays. Skippy the Kangaroo... in real life, he's terrifying. Honestly. Several children have been scarred for life because their parents forced them to eat Skippy Cornflakes. There's something about the way he grins at you… I'm glad I got the grief-quota up to scratch. Thanks for reviewing._

**- ( Breaker )-**

Harold Corwin leaned back in his executive's chair, surveying those around him with satisfaction. Incredible satisfaction. He felt like the king of the world. All his gambles had gone the right way – all the risks he had taken that had cause eyebrows to raise had been proven wise.

He was beyond a risk taker. He was now an entrepreneur.

Allowing a certain young police officer, Leon S. Kennedy, to join the anti-Umbrella group had been the cause for several snide remarks from his inferiors, especially as he had an unknown relationship with the infamous, viral-hating Redfield's sister. But now look: he was a step closer to destroying Umbrella, and into the bargain he got rid of the only people who knew what HCF truly was and wanted to take it down.

_All in all, well managed,_ he decided.

The looks of stupefied shock on the faces around were so very, very pleasing. They had doubted, they had ridiculed, but now they all had to agree; Harold Corwin is indeed far-seeing.

Corwin gave a contented sigh. All was right in the world.

He rubbed the arms of his leather chair contentedly. He liked this 'power chair'. His wife had bought it for him at the beginning of the year. It still had the new smell about it. But what he liked most was how intimidating it made him look – like a villain off the Saturday morning cartoons his grandson liked to watch.

The video feed they were receiving showed a cream house in the early morning light, in the middle of light forest. The view was taken from inside a tree, so branches and foliage obscured a perfect shot. A woman's face took up the foreground – her hair was tied behind her ears severely tightly, and she wore light tan fatigues as to blend in with the leaves.

"Ada, could you make out what they were planning?"

The female spy's voice came through muffled over the speakers. "Yes. They're taking Rebecca Chamber's body to the police, and then regrouping in the mainland, leaving Claire Redfield and Sherry Birkin behind somewhere. They all seem determined to succeed. I don't think you have anything to worry about, sir."

Corwin smirked. This was too good.

"What about the dead girl?"

"They don't know who killed her, sir."

He cocked his head and studied the image of the house. "Do we?"

A pause. All the people present leaned hungrily towards the speaker.

"Negative, sir. There is nothing to say who did it on behalf of whom, and no why confirmed either. The only lead is that Sherry Birkin says it was a woman."

"Well, that cuts down half the population," a voice muttered.

"If you find out who is responsible," Corwin said, pointedly ignoring the other speaker, "tell us immediately. If it _is _an outside source and not a random murderer, we need to know straight away so we can distance ourselves from AVO. We don't want to have the person inadvertently led onto us."

"Yes, sir."

"Continue to monitor them, Miss Wong, but do not – repeat, do not – get involved in anyway. No helping, no being seen. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Sir."

"Have fun."

The transmission was cut. Now the feed would be watched only by security in a thick-walled room down the hallway, who would contact Corwin quickly if anything untoward happened. Like if Umbrella found out they were involved.

_Caroline Foster is right,_ he acknowledged grudgingly. _With Umbrella being funded by the governments worldwide, it won't be long before they can afford to hunt us down and smoke us out. Best not to even indicate we're around here._

Finding a group of kamikaze idiots with nothing to loose had been the best present Corwin had ever received. Even better than his chair. And Ruth – the girl had proved useful, in the end.

It would almost be a pity that they would all probably die sometime this evening.

"You are pleased, Harold?"

The man turned to the fragile scribe. Hewitt had been a friend of his father, a sharp-minded individual who had proved his worth over and over again throughout the years with his analytical skills. Corwin's respect for Hewitt was shown by allowing the man to address him as 'Harold', the only man to call him by his first name.

"Yes, Hewitt. I am indeed very pleased."

"It has all turned out very well for us. Though I question your choice on the tracker; Ada had an incident with Leon Kennedy that almost proved fatal. I hope history will not repeat itself?"

"Ada's memory of what happened in Raccoon City has been shaky since she awoke from surgery. The post-trauma of nearly dying seems to have wiped the slat clean. My suspicions tell me the boy is already dead."

Hewitt nodded slowly. "Let us hope you are right, Harold."

The sharp-witted Caroline Foster joined the group. "It will be excellent if Umbrella's research can be stopped soon. I just hope this doesn't blow up in our faces. STARS had better live up to their reputation."

"And Umbrella had better live up to theirs," came the snide, sarcastic voice. "It would be a shock if they suddenly grew brains."

Corwin knew without looking that it belonged to Simon Taylor, a nineteen year old whiz-kid who knew gadgetry and mechanics back to front. As well as having a cutting attitude towards Umbrella, the boy was one of the reasons HCF was still in the running. His computer encoding and technological inventions were the stuff miracles were made of. He also had some novel ideas when it came to designing treadmills, not that he'd ever done any working out.

But that didn't make his snotty, ratty persona any easier to deal with.

"Thank you, Taylor," said Corwin, with just a touch of _'speak-when-you're-not-wanted-again-and-you'll-find-yourself-squashed-under-the-bleachers'_, "Don't worry, Caro. After talking to Williams, I am certain they will not disappoint."

They glanced towards the aging, lisping gentleman who was responsible for stringing STARS along so diligently.

She nodded curtly.

It was a shame, Corwin had often mused, that Caro had such an all-knowing and condescending approach to life. If she wasn't so difficult to get on with, she could have made it big on screen as a TV actress; she had that type of muted, cookie-cutter appeal and was, Mrs. Corwin claimed, 'a scream'. But somehow, the researcher's attitude could cut through concrete. Gradually, over the years, it had changed motherly features into something that could be only be described as 'harpy-esque'.

Caroline Foster had joined the company two years after it had been started, and had proved to a very valuable asset. Not only was she brilliant at micro-biology, but she could also devise the plans and health schemes that made Harold Corwin Fitness so successful. Foster was also the reason HCF's employees were in such could shape.

Excluding the most stubborn of couch-potatoes, even the greasy-haired scientists with linen-skin could run in the middle distance.

"Where's Doctor Wesker?" she asked, looking around. "I'd have thought he would want to see how this turns out. After all, it is about -"

The rest of her words were drowned out in Mister Corwin's mind as his eyes quickly roved the faces in the room. There were all the high-ups from science, security, tactics, equipment and even the dietary nutrition– except for one.

_Typical, _he snarled, _I take my eye off the man for one minute and he defies me._

A couple of enquiries provide reason to believe the gleefully cruel ex-captain has been gone for a couple of hours. There is little doubt in Corwin's mind as to where the man has gone and for what reasons. For the next hour, whenever somebody talks to him, his answer will be a roar.

"Bloody Wesker!"

**- ( End of Breaker ) -**

_(next chapter will not be a breaker... this is just to show what's going on there... I told you a man with an ego the size of the Titanic couldn't keep out of the story for long... Don't hurt me if my next update isn't very fast. Please. Many things to juggle. It'll be easier it I have both arms._

_If I don't update in the next week, Merry Christmas to all)_


	13. 11 Alice's Journal

_Merry Christmas to everyone! I had a very nice holiday and I hope everyone else did too!_

_**Zarbok – **Wow, a leg brace! That's got to be aggravating at times. Yes, there certainly is a lot happening, isn't there? Though one must ask the question, why would anyone throw shit at a fan in the first place? Hehehe. I hope you had a Merry Christmas, and have a Happy New Year!_

_**Rain – **I hope you had a very Merry Christmas! Men with ego's the size of the Titanic are everywhere. The hard thing is finding one who has an ego smaller than a skyscraper. Am I a bitter female? (laugh) of _course _not. I'm glad you like Ada tagging after them. I was quite proud of that touch!_

_**CassSpaz – **ha, I shall be your bitch if this means I don't have to cook you scrambled eggs in the morning. Be warned, it would turn out more like scramble than egg. By breaker I mean it _is _important to the overall plot, but if it were to be left out if wouldn't result in hell. It's also called a breaker because it's a break from the normal narrative and the normal perspective. If I knew the true definition of a filler then I would probably be able to answer that question better. Never mind me, I am the ignoramus! Have a Happy New Year._

_**Krazed Banana Fairy – **One a.m's exist? Yay, you like my work! Thank you for reviewing! Have a happy new year!

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_

**Chapter 11- Alice's Journal**

'_Imagine my surprise when Williams forwarded us Umbrella's version of the events of 1998 Raccoon City. Suddenly I changed from a lowly employee who kissed Spencer's metaphorical ass merely to survive into the Head of Security. Apparently I'm also super human and married to Spencer's son – who to my knowledge doesn't even exist. My then 'mystery spouse' caused the viral spill._

_Yeah, right.'_

The entry in Alice's journal merely proved reason to concrete my suspicions that the files had been messed up – like I needed more any more help to figure that out. My money was on the enigmatic Doctor Wesker, who would probably have used this to his advantage by having some imaginative story to cover his tracks and hide his use of the super virus.

Actually, the absence of the STARS members from the files meant Umbrella wouldn't be looking for any of them either, and this would, supposedly, help HCF in the long run...

I smiled grimly to myself. Now I understood completely the reason behind the story the Raccoon Incident Files held.

I arranged the cushions more comfortably just as a previously unnoticed clock signaled the start of the eight hour.

I skim-read the pages, missing some entirely and only reading what caught my eye. One of these was the first mention of my name.

'_Matheson has given us help to find some of HCF's lesser personnel files, to see if we can find anyone who would join us and be useful. It didn't take long before I found Kaplan's sister. I told the others of how helpful he had been when we were in the Hive, but they said that didn't mean his sister shared the same qualities. I had to agree that they were right in this. It was considered too risky to contact her.'_

'_We have arrived at a standoff. We need someone who can get into Umbrella's mainframe and find out what we need. I suggested Ruth Kaplan but once again this was dismissed. So I was forced to contact her late in the night, in private. Because of the hour and the grim news, she was not in the mood to consider my proposal. I wasn't surprised when she hung up on me with a less the fond farewell.'_

In my mind I smirked and grudgingly held up a couple of eights – she could have said a lot worse. It was odd to see my name in full, for it'd been a longtime since I'd used it myself. But it seemed that contacting me was something done solo – now Alice doing something without telling anyone seemed more probable.

Her journal was not kept in chronological order. It was musings of emotions, facts and events; a way of assembling thoughts more than a record. This made reading it more difficult.

'_Sometimes I miss Spence. Though our marriage was one of ambition and not love, by spending so much time with him he has grown on me. I never would have thought that he had it in him to free the virus and risk such results… and to think, he did it all for me…'_

_Wow, _I thought. _Didn't she say earlier she didn't even know if 'Spence' was a real person? _

'_We found the exact location of Umbrella's base! Well, Oliviera did. Now when the others arrive on Tuesday we'll be able to head straight off. Kennedy warned us against rashness. I agree with the experience-lacking rookie cop. We should leave as soon as possible to check out security routines and layouts.'_

'_They disregarded my plan. MY plan. It was ME who got through Raccoon City, who defeated Nemesis, who is superhuman. And even if the Valentine tart is right, everyone obviously thinks I'm capable or they wouldn't have said I could.'_

'_But she's wrong. I did all that. The files prove it.'_

'_I'm going to go to the Umbrella base all by myself, if I have to. I don't need them. I have super power, super strength and super speed.'_

'_Caution is for the weak.'_

I knew it. Alice got cocky, somehow becoming confused and believing the file's lies. No doubt the good-intentioned AVO's couldn't let her go on a suicide mission. Possibly her brashness got them killed.

I snapped the black book closed. It made me uncomfortable, her unchecked thoughts amongst clear planning.

_Very disturbing._

The sound of running water stopped with a clunk as Jill finished her shower. I contemplated having one myself, but decided that as I had one yesterday afternoon and had the bandages to take care of, it wasn't worth it.

Remembering the presence of the bandages seemed to make them itch. _Good move, Ruth. _I stuck a finger between the material and the skin. It provided little relief, and if anything, made it worse. Frustrated, I gave up.

I had a similar problem a couple of years ago when I double fractured my leg during a training exercise. The cast had proven to be more agony than the break, or even the surgical removal and intrusion of the plates to help the bone heal. In the end I accidentally dropped a coin down in an effort to quell the itch. The doctor had seemed surprised to find a $2 coin upon opening the cast.

"Having trouble?" asked Claire when she re-entered the lounge, a cheeky grin spreading over her face.

"The bandages are going to kill me," I whined.

I sat round on the couch properly, and she took the newly vacated area next to me as her seat.

She brushed some red wisps of hair away, curiously gazing at the bandages. "What about First Aid Spray? Wouldn't that heal it instantly?"

"Too deep and too damaged, unfortunately"

"Ugh. That sucks."

"O-oh, yeah."

Jill wandered into the room, her red-tinted hair still wet. "Don't you just hate it when it goes down the back of your shirt?" she grumbled.

"I should've thought that would be the least of your troubles," Claire commented.

"Mmm. Hey Ruth, when we go to the town, remind me that we need to get some different clothes when we get new supplies. I don't think grungy denim and t-shirts are a good look."

"What about the clothes here?" asked Claire, "I'm wearing some of... Becca's…"

Jill paused momentarily before answering. "Rebecca's stuff is the wrong size for me... and too cute... we need something practical and nonobtrusive."

"I know a place," I said. "The outdoors shop, _Kathmandu. _It sells all sorts of helpful things. We can probably get all we need from there – our at least, some of the things will be there."

She nodded. "Okay. You reckon there'll be one in town?"

I shrugged. "Possibly. There's bound to be an equivalent or something similar if not. This is after all an outdoors, hiking, tramping and kayaking area. They need to have something around."

Again, a nod that caused her short hair to ripple around her face. She ran a hand through it and shook off traces of water before nodding once again. "Ay least that's one thing that's settled. Do you think we should make a list of what we need?"

I raised a hand in casual dismissal. "Nah. I'm sure we can figure out what we need when we're there."

"Okay then. So what do we do to pass the time? We've already done all the cleaning and that. It is only ..." she glanced towards the clock, "it's only eight twenty. I don't want any chance to get reflective."

No answer presented itself, but for some reason, a song of Norah Jones' began to play in my head.

"Hang on," Claire said suddenly, remembering, "the rowboat's still here! You and Ruth could go to the mainland, or something, and do some of the shopping."

"What about the rest of you?" I asked.

Claire shrugged. "I might go for a swim. It's so hot already, I don't think I'll be able to survive the day!"

I felt envious, not being able to swimming because of the stitches and their restricting bandages.

Jill, however, shuddered. "Don't say that," she begged quietly.

"She's got a point though," I said, "It could get more than uncomfortably hot. I assume we are waiting until the evening to tally-ho and attack?"

"Probably," Jill admitted, "but we'll be driving almost to Picton, so that's a couple of hours we don't have to worry about."

"There are other types of stealth than attacking in the dark," I pointed out. "We don't have to wait until evening."

"If you come up with something deviously clever," said Jill in a voice that ended the path of the conversation, "let us know."

I backed down. Unless I came up with a feasible plan, it would be night when we attacked... infiltrated... breached... got into the Umbrella facility, and then the only people around would be security guards and night-owl workers with a deadline to beat.

"But going now to do shopping... that could be a good idea," she continued. "And you wouldn't mind staying behind for a bit until the mail boat comes?"

"Not me," Claire verified, "But I can't speak for the others. Apparently they have minds of their own."

"Who'd have guessed it," Jill snorted. "But if that works for everyone we may as well go for it." She quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Sounds good," I said quickly. Anything's better than sitting around on our laurels.

_What and where are laurels, anyway? _

And so it was decided we would go do some shopping. By the time we rowed to shore and walked to the main street – not a mean feat, apparently – it would be about nine fifteen, and most of the stores would be open.

We wandered about the house to say our goodbyes to Henare and Sherry, before Claire came running, brandishing her brother's American Express card aloft triumphantly like it was an Olympic torch. "Take this," she wheezed breathlessly, "live the high-life."

"Get everything we could possibly need," Henare advised. "We don't want any of our darling girls to get hurt! And be careful, they might recognize you."

"Maybe I should die my hair red and go incognito," I offered, only half joking.

"_E kiia ana he urukehu nga patupaiarehe o te ngahere," _he said thoughtfully, slipping back into his native tongue. He saw the uncomprehending glances from us and explained. "The spirit people of the forest were said to have red hair."

"Oh…" I said.

Sherry looked at Claire's red hair and laughed.

And, eventually, Jill and I set off for shore, intending to meet the others in just under an hour and a half. When we were halfway across the water – I was rowing, under Jill's watchful blue eye – I couldn't help but hum a few bars of that Norah Jones which had magically manifested itself in my head in the earlier conversation.

"I laugh at my own jokes, and what I deem to be clever wit," I sang quietly, willing the music to leave my head via my mouth, "and you don't seem to mind... that I'm so stupid."

Jill laughed. "I do mind, I'm just a great actor!"

I gave an embarrassed half-smile.

She sobered quickly. "Rebecca's a great Norah Jones fan."

_Great. I always managed to do and say the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time._

I stopped singing – both aloud and in my head – and rowed the rest of the way in silence.

The walk was indeed long and tedious, and the others were lucky they had not given us Matheson's keys or I would have definitely have given into the temptation to run off with his car. As it was, a couple of meters down the road and I was contemplating trying to jumpstart it. When I mentioned this aloud, Jill also looked severely tempted.

"So," she said, pushing damp, sweaty hair off her face, "you joined HCF?"

I trudged heavily along the dusty gravel road, straining against gravity. "Well, in the loose meaning of the term, yes, I guess you could say that."

"Loose meaning?"

I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, keeping my eyes on them and off her curious face. "Well, I didn't exactly jump at the offer to sign up."

"So what happened then?"

The flashes of coming home to a less than savory scene after school ran through my head at lightening pace.

_Bloody footprint... a broken fruit bowl… men... sombre, satisfied faces... "Would you like to join us now, Miss Kaplan?"_

"HCF has great powers of persuasion," I said sourly.

Jill did not press any more. No doubt she could guess why I ended up joining.

"But after I got there, it wasn't so bad," I admitted freely, "it was like… a big adventure. A big school camp. Everyone was friendly, the instructors were generally nice... but it would be different for the future scientists. They didn't get to go on Ropes Courses in the tree tops, or play endless games of Capture the Flag, Spotlight… they spent their lives indoors over computers. I, however, had fitness training in preparation for going into the wide section of 'security' which covers everything from sentry to the HCF equivalent of UBCS."

"It would suck to be a scientist, then."

I agreed, and glared at the healthy, vibrant natural forest around us.

_Great, now that's my mind dragged down too._

Thankfully, the long walk under the strong sunlight was difficult and exhausting, and left little effort to think. Finally – _oh thank god, finally – _we reached the main street. It was surprisingly busy for the time of the morning, but – as Jill pointed out – it was there to cater for all the tourists and tourists are notorious for defying normal sleep patterns to cram in all the experiences they could.

"Right," Jill said, rubbing her hands together tiredly, "Where's Kathmandu?"

"Nepal," I said cheekily, heading of towards the familiar deep green building that was the outdoors shop.

Kathmandu is the ultimate travel shop. From handy things to put in your luxury suitcase to hiking boats guaranteed not to leak, it will have everything you need to travel, and a fair few things that you need for 'extreme' sports.

Jill looked around appraisingly, eyes drifting over the contents of the shop. When she looked at me, the blue eyes were almost happy. "Good find, this," she commented, and then the shopping began.

It turned out that I had lost my credit card at some point during the day – or maybe it was just in the pocket of my sports pants that were in Matheson's car. Anyway, for whatever reason, Jill had few qualms as she gleefully turned Chris into our unknowing sponsor.

"If he gets pissy, we can pay him back," she rationalized, zipping all over the place in search of things to buy.

"Maglights," I said, "a must have."

"Compass!"

"Do we really need a travel pillow, Jill?"

"Yes! Ooh, travel mug!"

I passed a hand over my brow as Jill tried to find more ways to use up Chris's fortune. Who'd have thought the usually calm and collected woman had a shopping fetish.

After a while, she calmed down and we discussed what items we really needed and which – _cough, travel mug – _we did not. We ended up with mag-lights, compasses, a set of Allen keys and some nifty Swiss arm knives,

"Is that a corkscrew?" Jill said, looking at one of the attachments.

"Well, it could be useful," I said, my mind on other things, "you could always screw a guard to death."

It took me a full five minutes to figure out why Jill was dying with laughter. When I found out, I apparently went a beautiful shade of magenta before joining the raucous. Amateur comedy. Such a beautiful thing.

The next big mission was clothing. Naturally, full army camo-fatigues would be the most desirable thing, but if we got caught within a three kilometre radius this would make Umbrella more than suspicious, and army fatigues weren't exactly unobtrusive on the streets. We um-ed and ah-ed and came to a standoff; it was everyone for themselves.

I got myself army pants, thinking at least I could claim I was belatedly following a fashion trend, and a red 'muscle-back' tank-top. My skin had a dark tan and wouldn't show up much at night, so full coverage was not a prerequisite. With the beginnings of a plan forming in my mind, I also added to my pile an army-style cap.

Jill had a great jumble of gear, and the colours she went for proved she was no amateur. The main thing was to make sure they would blend into the background at night, so you could actually buy a pretty trendy outfit that would seem to fade into the blackness when the sun sunk simply because of their colour-scheme.

We decided the boys could get their own gear together when they arrived.

Just as we were fighting our way past a die-hard fisherman to get to the counter and buy our substantial amount of goods, Henare, Claire and Sherry bounded into the store. Matheson smiled at us before going to select his clothing, and soon we all had everything we would need for the evening – except for shoes.

As Jill handed Claire her brother's credit card, I studied the footwear of those around me. Matheson wore the sturdy dark-tan boots of a guard uniform, and Jill – who had not been expecting to leave the city – wore low-heel sandals. My own were my specially made training shoes which were a non-descript brown. They had a high back to help avoid spraining an ankle, and looked almost like boots.

Because they obviously needed a change of shoes, I was left holding the bags as they went to 'the Frontrunner' down the road. Sherry and Claire stayed with me, their faces glum as they watched a preparations for an event they were excluded from.

"So," I said, "how was the mail boat trip over?"

"Okay," said Sherry. "Shaun wanted to chat. He said he'd send big flowers for Rebecca."

"That's nice of him."

"Mmm."

Claire looked glummer than she had before, but I guessed that was because she was fighting an inner battle over leaving for Wellington without us.

It wasn't long before Jill and Henare rejoined us, faces becoming lit with nervous anticipation. To them, this 'excursion' was not only a way of hurting Umbrella, but a way of letting off steam after the death of a friend. They seemed fearless and frightening in their odd exuberance.

As a mob we scoured the street, looking for more useful tools and always keeping an eye out for Chris and Barry. Matheson lugged a small bag around that carried all the firearms he could find. I eyed this bag with apprehension. If you have a gun on you and Umbrella finds you, you're dead. Simple as that. A gun can either save you or kill you, and there are more ways it can do both than you might initially think.

At twelve o'clock, we began to get apprehensive. Our shopping expedition had long since worn itself out. Jill, Matheson and I went to the public toilets to get changed into our new 'combat gear'. When we came out, we didn't stand out too much from the crowd.

At one o'clock, we were worried. We grabbed a meal from a restaurant, careful to eat things that would give us energy. Claire was asked if she and Sherry wanted to go now, but Claire shook her head. Not until she'd seen Barry and Chris.

At two o'clock, we were getting frantic. Henare had driven here in his car, and we all leaned against it worriedly, watching the traffic roll past.

_Suppose Chris's worrying was right, and they had tried to detain them?_

_Nah, he was a cop. He knows how to work his way around that._

_Maybe Umbrella was there, waiting for him._

_Maybe there was an accident on the roads?_

Maybe, maybe. Too many things could go wrong. And us, what should we do now? Continue? What if they were to turn up? We had no way of leaving them a message, and there was no still no cell-phone coverage.

At quarter to three, when we were almost at our wits end, Chris and Barry screeched to a stop next to us. By this time, Jill had lost her patience and bought them all clothes, so we threw ourselves into the vehicle and said hurried goodbyes.

I watched the blonde girl and the red-head disappear out of sight, and wondered if I would ever see them again.

This musing was short lived however, as our attentions were turned to Barry and Chris.

"Waiting so long! Almost had apoplexy!" Matheson chided.

Jill was more to the point. "What happened? What took you so long?"

Chris and Barry exchanged tense glances. Eventually, Barry, who was driving, said in his baritone voice, "Tings might get complicated when we re-surface after tonight."

_

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(Chapter twelve looms in the future like a great looming thing. Everyone have a Happy New Year!)


	14. 12 Devious Plans

_AUTHOR NOTE: Okay, here it is. But be warned; it's a big mish of cheese and originality. You have been warned. If my horrendous writing causes you to keel over and die, then I apologize... actually, I might be exaggerating. But I'm not happy with this chapter. Also, I couldn't bring myself to watch RE, theMovie again to find out if the Kaplan guy had a first name, so from now own it's Maxwell. Yep. That's right. Maxwell.I stand by my name choice!_

**Zarbok: **_and ego the size of a small tractor, then? (: (removes apron and hands you your order) the bacon's somewhere between crispy and incinerated. I was going to get Wesker to cook it but he said that would ruin his cool image. I pointed out that he baked cookies, and then he turned beet-red and disappeared in a puff of mortification. You're bribing my plot-bunnies? Well... fair enough!_

**Rain: **_(: thank you! May 2005 bring you fun, laughter, a million dollars, seventeen cars of your choice and good dental hygiene! ... Okay, I'm insane. Let's get it out there! I think the looming got out of hand! Glad you like Alice's journal!_

**CassSpaz: **_Great! I was thinking I made her insanity too mild to warrant a death wish, but I am glad to see that this fear was unfounded! Ha-ha, good ol' amateur comedy. I got the screwing line from my aunt who said it to a customs official when her corkscrew was confiscated for being a dangerous weapon. She was nine at the time. I thought it was classic and immediately stole it for my own! I wanted to lighten things up, because there's little to no light-heartedness in this chapter._

**Synch14: **_thanks! I hope 'A New Existence' will have a new chapter soon!_

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Chapter 12- Devious Plan

Barry's grip on the steering wheel was a tight as his jaw, and his distraction worried me as he drove us through the notorious and winding road through the hills.

"So, what happened?" Jill asked. The almost carefree glint that had been present when she was shopping had flown, leaving her cerulean eyes cautious.

Even though the moment was inappropriate, I felt a gleam of envy towards her eyes.

'When we got there," Barry answered, "it was all standard procedure. Then, as Chris had expected, the police suspected us."

"But they couldn't keep you there," Jill pointed out.

"No, but that didn't stop them from trying. Even our immaculate and impressive background history didn't hold any way."

"They tried to keep us in for questioning – probably trying to find something incriminating while they did so they could detain us for longer,' said Chris, his face expressionless. "And we were getting frantic because of the time and all that. So... we took steps."

"Steps?" I echoed. _This sounds bad._

The two exchanged brief glances before Barry focused on driving again and cleared his throat. "We, er…" he mumbled.

"What?" Jill demanded, her voice hard.

"We... uh... we kinda broke out of an interrogation room…"

"_What?! _And _that _doesn't make you look suspicious at all!"

"Isn't that impossible?" Henare wondered.

"No, just difficult and stupid to do!"

"It's not like we had much of a choice," Chris said calmly.

"But it makes us look like the bad guys!"

The next bit of the ride was tense with fuming. Not a healthy atmosphere for those who are going to need to trust each other entirely before the night is over.

At least there was air conditioning, so the scorching afternoon air wasn't too uncomfortable inside. The greens and browns of various hues sped past in a dizzying dance from colours to form the forest we drove past. I closed my eyes; feeling slightly disorientated and tried to feign sleep.

To my surprise, feigning was not required. Evidently I was exhausted. By the time I had woken up three quarters of an hour later, talks had been had and the air had cleared, the anger and frustration lifted. I was more than happy to place my trust in these now determined, unruffled people, even though Matheson claimed I snored like a walrus. Chris assured me that I did not.

"So where does Umbrella hang out?"

"They've got a small, five storey building in the forest at the valley near Cooper's Creek," said Jill. "There might be up to three underground basements."

It is a sad sign of life when a five storey building is described as being 'small'.

"There are laboratories, crash-quarters, lunchrooms, offices... all the usual."

"What about security?"

Barry took over. "There are guards twenty four-seven. We don't know much about their positions, but if they run like a typical Umbrella facility, they will be on eight hour shift rotations. They will most likely be lightly armed."

"I trust you have a plan to get in?"

The heads all turned to Matheson. The Maori man's tanned face was unusually serious and pulled into a frown. "Give me some more time," he said, "I'm working on it."

As was I, though I had made little to no headway.

Henare was silent and thinking, and with his input no one felt the need to chat. Barry switched on the radio, and the local band '_Deja voodoo' _was playing the song "_Today, Tomorrow, Timaru"_ which basically takes the mickey out of Christchurch's nieghbouring small town, Timaru, in a happy, up-beat way.

After a fair while, Barry pulled off the highway. "No road access," he explained. "We can make it easily enough by going cross-country on foot."

_At least that's better than driving right up to them, _I thought as I prepared for another grueling work in the sun's heat. The prospect did not fill me with joy.

_Okay, let's get going._

The first thing we had to do was get all our gear sorted. After much scrambling about, I wore a workman-style belt that carried a mag-light, compass, Swiss army knife and some extra clips. I suspected my entire ensemble made me look like an escapee from either a low grade action movie or a dodgy magazine photo shoot.

_Excellent. _

"Should've brought some cammo paint," Henare mused absently.

Barry Burton, who turned out to be the weapon's specialist, distributed the firearms. I opted for two standard Berettas, much to his surprise.

"I know what I'm, doing," I assured him. "These will be all I need."

With these strapped to my thighs, the weight initially uncomfortable, my porn mag/ action movie look was complete.

Chris smiled thinly, but somehow managed to show a lot of teeth. "Off we go."

And off we went.

The bush was not cooperative, and I began to understand why sportsmen aptly referred to dense, near impassable vegetation as 'fight'. The thick green leaves slapped at my face as I pushed through the leaves, twisting and turning. Progress was slow and careful.

My father often said 'time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted', and pushing through this 'fight' towards a strong foe made me wish we had done our homework better.

I almost tripped over a fallen branch, but managed to catch myself just in time. I ended up giving an inelegant, un-coordinated stumble. Chris, who had opted to be the backman, must have been preoccupied because this did trip him. He stumbled, startling a starling from its nest. Up the bird rose, shrieking in distress, and we were unable to stop the noise.

Cringing at every shriek, we all stared at Chris in dismay. His hair was messy and his mouth slightly open in a face that was a mask of muted horror. He stood stock-still, wincing at every one of the bird's protests, apology in his every cell.

Logan after the calls had died away we staid still, waiting for the sound of an inquisitive sentry. As the time passed without event, we unstiffened and continued on our way.

"Sorry, Sorry!" Chris whispered profusely.

"Just keep your mind on the here and now," Barry reminded him, not unkindly. "We can't afford any mistakes."

Finally the forest thinned until we came into what could only be a commercial pine forest. Getting in through this required no bush-bashing skill but a strong mine – it looked like Umbrella's forces were hiding in the shadows behind every tree.

There was a slight downward slope for a while until the pine trees finished at a small stream; Cooper's Creek. It is a clear, rocky stream the moves excitedly towards the sea. Small green plants crowded the water's edge, thirsty. As it wasn't stagnant, I figured it would be alright to drink some. Drinking from cupped hands, I could almost feel the snow melt as it slaked my thirst.

On the other side of Cooper's Creek, the valley began to slope up again. The stark white of the Umbrella building contrasted greatly greens and browns. There was a stretch of tussock over the creek, and then native trees planted in orderly rows.

"No cover," Matheson said quietly, also sitting amongst the ferns near the creak, motioning towards the light-coloured tussock.

Chris, who had recovered from the starling incident by now, mulled this over thoughtfully. "Any plans would be good."

Matheson shrugged, indicating he still hadn't come up with anything. Jill and Barry, crouching in the cover offered nearby, shook their heads.

"Well," Chris said quietly, his voice barely audible, "we have about four hours to come up with something."

By mass telepathic consensus, we pulled away from the fast-moving creek into the coolness of the forest, where we prepared to wait. Jill climbed a pine tree, reminding us that contractors would be at work. Acknowledging her point, the rest of us followed suit.

Climbing my chosen commercial pine proved to be more difficult than Jill had made it look. Maybe she was part gazelle which made her graceful in everything she did, part monkey or just having an affinity with tree-climbing. Sweating, face streaked with dirt and spitting out pine needles, I managed to pull a leg strenuously over a likely-looking branch.

Puffing and panting, I leant against the rough trunk and began absently picking the burs out of my hair and brushing pine needles off my clothes and out of my shoes.

My companions blended into the background with casual ease, and I hoped my presence was equally as subtly. I could see cold calculation in their eyes as they sorted through possible plans, and I put my own mind to the test.

_Okay; what do we know? Alice came here to scope it out, dragging the others with her. And then something went wrong._

_So what went wrong? Alice might have been too bold, believing she had an enhancing virus. She would have gone in without fear, but more importantly for everyone involved, without stealth. She must have thought she didn't need it._

_What would Umbrella do with them? Keep them in holding cells... interrogation... possibly keep them for use as future test subjects?_

_Where would they be held? Either the top storey or in the basement._

_How could you get to either of these places? You could only go to them if you had access – if you were supposed to be there, and had a card or password._

_Let's say it's a keycard to start with... could you mug someone who had one? I suppose you could..._

I scratched my back against the tree and stripped a nearby branch of its pine needles.

_If you could ... unlikely... you'd still have to get in there first without causing a stir. But once in... A fire alarm would get everyone out, leaving us free to blow the place up, or whatever._

_How to blow it up?_

_How to get in?_

I rubbed my temples and let my mind find its own path, trusting that together we could come up with something. I had always been told – especially by my father – that you couldn't pressure your brain when you needed it. "_Just relax," _he'd say, often when I was getting worked up about some homework or prep, _"take it calmly. You can do it if you approach it like you can._"

My father had a great hand in raising me, because my mother worked during the evenings. He was one for wise sayings and, as we got older, smart quips and jokes that would leave me and my brother howling with laughter for days. He was the one who first told me red was the best colour to wear if you wanted to disappear into the darkness, the one who pointed out that people hardly ever looked above their own heights, that movement was what the eye was drawn too. He also swore likea trooper when pissed off.

This knowledge had been very useful over the years, in play, training and now.

Dad. It seemed my parents were haunting my mind lately. I could almost hear his bass voice in the soft murmurings of the breeze as he jokingly retold his drinking mates a story of what had once happened at work.

And my brother, whose name I couldn't even bare to think. It made me feel guilty that I hadn't thought of him much before I heard of his death. Now in hindsight, I should've tried to find him. Or him me, I guess. It was like I had forgotten him – and that was something I couldn't forgive. My brother. Max Kaplan. Dead. Gone. Buried by the collapsed city of Raccoon.

There. I thought it. Max

Amazing how many memories the mere mention of those three letters threw up. A Christmas party, a game of cards, a dinner, a fight... Amazing, who people you know quickly plant a flag in your memories and only time coupled with forgetfulness can uproot.

My brother and my parents – with their love for old-fashioned names. Anita, Charles, Maxwell Kaplan... and me… the solve survivor of the Kaplan family, estranged from more distant relatives.

Sad.

A sharp '_thunk'_ drew my out from my mind. Matheson's hand was open and empty, and on the dirt below the tree was his mag-light. "Fuck," he muttered, "sorry about this guys." He swung himself off the branch and fell to the ground.

_Wow. That's amazing._

What was even more amazing was that the fall didn't seem to faze him. He just picked up his torch, clicked it onto his belt, and began to climb the tree. He was about halfway to up the straight trunk when we heard an outraged cry. The other's and I froze, but Matheson, prone half-way up the tree, dropped down and walked towards the shouter.

He walked intentionally away from where we were.

Through the inconveniently placed pine needles - depending on what way you looked at it – I could just make out the face of an angered older man. He had the wide, flat nose and square-ish face of a Polynesian, and I immediately knew he was Maori when he launched into an angry tirade in that particular language. He wore a red-blue checked bush shirt and tan short-shorts that showed more thigh than I ever wanted to see from a fifty year old.

Matheson turned quickly, magically being able to control himself so he didn't look at us as he dealt with the angered contractor. "I tino tumeke ahau i a koe," he said placatingly, running a hand through his hair and smiled ruefully. _You gave me quite a scare._

"Konei haranga te whakakorea," the older man spat back, though his voice had lost the edge of venom and suspicion it'd had in the face of Henare's mastery of the language and friendly behaviour. _You're not allowed to trespass here._

"E aroha," he replied politely, bowing his head. "E ka haere no naianei tonu." _I'm sorry. I'll just leave now._

The contractor sniffed. No doubt he couldn't bring himself to reasonably dislike the amiable, friendly Matheson. "Mahi mo Umbrella koe?" _Do you work for Umbrella?_

"Ae." _Yes._

"Atamai," the man said, but his tone was not unkind. This time he nodded his head at Matheson in acknowledgement, before turning on his heel and disappearing out of sight. _Figures._

Henare seemed to grin as he watched his antagonist disappear through the trees. After five minutes, when he was certain the man had gone, he turned around and climbed his tree again. It was then that he translated the conversation for us. It appeared the contractor had a beef with Umbrella, which he was going over in the initial rant and had taken Henare to be a bored employee wasting time by climbing trees.

Apparently tree-climbing was not an unusual activity.

_The other branch of AVO, _I thought. No doubt they had used the same tactic to avoid being found by enemies.

We all let out a collective sigh of relief to find that the bad-tempered forest-worker wasn't going to go and report us to management, security, or even his home-based wife. We were safe. Luck was running our way. For now.

After that sigh, we went back to silent waiting and pondering. It was only just half past six. The idea that we had at least three and a half hours to wait before making a move didn't make me a happy trooper. I sighed inwardly over and over again, loosing my cool and getting frustrated and becoming calm on what seemed like an endless cycle.

_Calm down, you. This could be the last evening of my life. I don't want to spend it a whining bitch._

Oh, well _that_ really calmed me down! Evidently my alter-ego wanted a fight.

Which makes me wonder, how thin is the line between sane and schizophrenic? However narrow the path may be between the sane and the not-so-sane, Alice had fallen towards the not so. She can't have done long jump from one to the other. Maybe she had always been a little crazy? Or maybe insanity is just closer than everyone suspects.

I shifted position slightly on the branch, perching awkwardly. Jill, of course, looked like she was born to balance on branches as much as a wax-eye, fain-tail, starling... any bird. Perhaps even _more _so than any bird. Chris didn't seem to be worried that he was some distance from the ground. He was far too concerned with other things. Barry and Matheson I couldn't make out from the trees.

I heaved another inward sigh, getting steadily more and more bored.

_Don't be bored. I'm supposed to be coming up with some plan to save us all._

Morosely, my mind drifted to the past; searching through all the mock battles and assignments I had done in the last four years, searching for anything that could be useful. There should have been something, surely. Then again, I don't think my instructors ever assumed the sixteen year old they faced would be stupid enough to try to get _in _to an Umbrella facility.

'_So why'd you join HCF?' _Jill had asked.

No doubt she assumed I had some personal vendetta against the rival company. After all, even most of the people working for Umbrella hated it. My reasons were not as high and noble as that. To cut to the chase, it was pure blackmail. And not by Umbrella; by Harold Corwin himself, by HCF.

Henare must have known as soon as I mentioned the Family Splitting Plan. Whatever man thought that up must have been doped. Just because you're related doesn't necessarily mean you both have the same IQ, or the same love for quantum physics. Please. Anyone with a family can tell you that.

Anyway, people involved in that plan did not usually comply willingly.

HCF had first contacted me two weeks before my sixteenth birthday. Wet-behind-the-ears and utterly bewildered, I allowed my parents to handle it.

'_No. You can tell your Mister Corwin that our girl is not interested,'_

* * *

_The knock on the door is unexpected. I don't look up from the 'Monopoly' board, concentrating on secreting the $500 note I have unlawfully acquired into my own wad of cash with an innocent expression. My parents exchange glances, wordlessly debating who will go and answer the door._

_Dad looks at his small amount of cash and few properties. "I'll go," he offers, relief evident in his brown eyes as the inevitable win of his daughter is post-poned._

_Mum nods, shooting me a glare as I discretely 'acquire' another of my father's properties. Okay, so maybe not as discretely as I would have liked. "Is any of that money actually yours?" she asks, stifling a yawn._

_This is the first night she's had off work for ages, and naturally she's very tired. I shrug. "Maybe."_

_Raised voices from the front door hit us. Defying laws of natural survival, Mum and I race to the sound like lemmings. Dad is there in his black suit pants and white shirt, tie flapping wildly in the wind blowing through the door. He's screaming at the immaculately dressed individual in front of him._

"_No! She's not interested! She's not going! Get the fuck away from here!"_

_It's the first time I have ever heard Dad use _that _word. Sure, he's sworn around me before – like the time when he hit his hand with the hammer – but he's never said that, and not with so much hatred._

"_But sir - "_

"_Stay the fuck away from my daughter, you fucking cun-"_

_Mum, seizing the least important message, claps her hands over my ears so I can't hear the rest of Dad's rant. I don't know why she bothered. Like I don't know what he was going to say._

_The man who had incurred his wrath finally leaves with scorched ears, and Mum lets go of my own._

"_Fucking hell. Fucking _bastards!"

"_Charles," Mum says warningly._

"_Anita," he says back, "there are more important things than posh language at this point in time."_

"_Who was it?" she asks evenly, not the least bit fazed by his attitude._

"_Some fu – I mean, effing – talent scout from effing HCF. Wants Ruth to join."_

"_Me?" I wonder. "Why me?"_

"_No effing clue," spits Dad bitterly._

"_At least they got the message," Mum says soothingly. "They won't be back."_

_And, fool that I am, I believe it.

* * *

_

I shrugged the memory away. The 'talent scout' did come back two months later, and this time no wasn't an option. Obviously my brother must have been quite the hacker for them to be after me so diligently. He must've been good.

I remembered the man who had come to collect me had come at I time I wasn't home. My Dad, not being the easiest tempered being, had instantly told him to get lost – or words to that effect – and...

_No, I'm not going to go into that._

My Mum had opened the door when the man knocked three hours later. They were expecting visitors for the tea party they were having – one to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary. Two were missing; one of my Dad's work colleagues, and me. She had opened the door with a cheery "Welcome!" and had received and bad mannered bullet to gut.

I shook my head hard, trying to shake the memory out. _No. Not this point in time._

I was late home, guilty that I had lost track of time. I felt even guiltier when I came across Mum's lower half. The rest was in bloody spatters around her. Even the fruit bowl she had been so proud of – _hand-painted by your aunt especially for me and you dad, dontcha know Ruthie – _was broken.

And then _him_, leering at me as I stood amongst the corpses of the family and friends, some bodies partly disintegrated like Mum's, others with a single bullet-hole.

"_Would you like to join us now, Miss Kaplan?"_

_He _said he wouldn't have killed them if they'd just given me up, and delighted in telling me that my Dad had said, upon seeing my Mum's destroyed self, he'd 'effing' give me up but he didn't know where I 'effing' was. He loved seeing the guilt-angst-disgust mix on my features.

Mum had thought she was letting in Little Red Riding Hood, but she had let in the wolf.

I shut my eyes tightly, willing the scene I had come home to four years ago disappear, but it mixed together with the image of Rebecca and snippets of nightmares and horror movies until I thought I would retch and scream.

Then, all the nausea left as I realized the significance of what I had just thought.

_Would you like to join us now, Miss Kaplan?"_

_Letting in Little Red Riding Hood... but she had let in the wolf._

"_Mahi mo Umbrella koe?" Do you work for Umbrella?

* * *

_

_(And there it is. I won't hunt you down if you don't like this chapter so much – clichéd, I know. Next chapter, now, that one dances out of reach as I am being _forced_ by an friend to write an X-men: Movie story. Big Sigh. Don't worry; this one will still be top priority!)

* * *

_


	15. 13 Dubious Stealth

AUTHOR NOTE: those of you whose stories I read and review will know that I have been eaten my BADGERS. Yes, my friends, I died a horrible and painfully dramatic death inside the intestines of a badger. But I got over it. You can't keep a good man down! This is my odd way of saying 'sorry I took so long to update'.

**Zarbok – **Eww, dripping bag! Yes, I think everyone has their little crazy oddities, but in a good way. Me, put myself down? Men may have egos the size of small motorvehicles, large buildings and ships, but I assure you mine is the size of the moon. Wesker has refused to appear for a few chapters because I stuffed him into a flowery apron, but on the bright side he made some cookies. Thanks for reviewing!

**Rain – **I'm glad you liked the chapter, and hope you find this one equally as enjoyable. Ha, yes, Ruth has an interesting take on things. Thanks for reviewing!

**CassSpaz – **thank you so much! I was hoping they would be okay. And yeah, Ruth and STARS have their similarities and such. I've been trying to show that Ruth isn't used to working in a team and often does everything solo. That sort of comes to a head in this chapter. Thanks for the review(s) PLURAL! I LOVE YOU

**Mental Feline – **you can write as good as me! Trust me, I wouldn't be reading your story otherwise! Thank you for your review! Make more I shall!

* * *

**Chapter 13**

_Eureka._

"I've got it."

The forceful, determined and premature murmur flickered over the branches and through the pine needles to reach the eager ears of my companions. They turned their heads to me, hungry for action, while I was still trying to decide if my plan would actually work.

It was risky. Oh yes, was it risky. And I was the only one I could see do it.

"So..." Barry prompted after I didn't say anything. "What's the plan?"

"We walk in," I said.

This was met with doubting silence. "We... we just walk in?" he repeated.

"Brilliant in its simplicity, don't you think?"

Barry's face indicated he did not share my views on the matter. With similar expressions all through the trees, I realized I needed to sell my plan and switch into sales mode.

"Why do you think that will work?" Chris asked skeptically.

"Because if you act like you're meant to be there, people don't stop to ask questions." I leaned against the tree trunk for support, employing full use of my hands in gestures to strengthen my argument. "Imagine this: you're at your police station, or whatever, slaving hard over work and steadily hating your boss. A face stamped with cheerful helpfulness appears. The owner is wearing a police uniform. 'I'm terribly sorry to interrupt', the person says, 'but I just transferred yesterday and I'm finding this place to be a bit of a maze. Could you please tell me how to get to the pigeon holes?' How do you react?"

I could see they wanted to say they would be suspicious – and maybe they would be a little, too – but knew that they would have directed the newcomer to where he/she wanted to go.

"Walk in like you belong, and no one will suspect you don't. No one will ever dream their enemy will just saunter up."

"You're gambling big, Ruth." Henare's voice was a mix of many emotions. If pressed to say, I would guess hope, grief, fear and cynicism played a big part. But I can never be sure. "And I don't think you have an Umbrella uniform in your britches."

I raised my army-style cap and replaced it on my thick mess of hair, a smug smile spreading unbidden across my face. "What do you wear when you're exercising during a break, Matheson?"

"Army gear," he admitted.

"Exactly. Can't be getting that security uniform dirty, can we?"

"Army gear?" Jill repeated skeptically. "Army gear with guns, compasses and corkscrews?"

I shrugged. "Being conscientious?"

"And what about ID checks and passwords?" Barry cut over. "Even if they don't think you're an intruder, they're bound to have some custom security checks. What do you do when you get to one of those?"

Probably I should have told them before, but I didn't want to tell the story of how I got the files twice in one day. Even Matheson only got a brief story on our trip up. But I had not forgotten what proved to be useful.

I reached carefully into the side of my shoe, making sure to keep my balance as I did so. My fingers slipped around the smooth plastic, and I pulled it out. A black card with a magnetic strip and the Umbrella logo in one corner. I held it aloft.

"That might do it," said Chris.

I didn't know it at the time, but the card I held was what my brother called an 'all-meta'. I don't know if that's the technical term or not, but let me explain it as I know it. An all-meta is a password that opens everything, the one with the highest security. Harold Corwin would be the only one in the entire company of HCF with an all-meta, and it would be well guarded so no one else could get it. And it was probably changed regularly too.

You may remember that, back in the darkness of Bottle Lake Forest, one swipe of this keycard opened the heavy door to the file room. That is because an all-meta keycard can open every door the key-pad controls. Now, in this facility, the card probably couldn't open anything at all – not even the linen closet. In fact, the only reason I had this card in my possession could well be because it was too useless to warrant being kept safely. But that didn't matter. I had an all-meta card, so I had a symbol of authority.

Chris, of course, being much more versed in such things recognized it instantly.

"I bet I can get past security."

"No deal!" Jill said decisively. "Even if by some miracle you get past them unscathed, what then? How are the rest of us supposed to get in?"

"Fire drill." Chris and I say it at exactly the same time.

A reflective pause.

"With no one left in the building, discretion won't be necessary, will it?" Jill now tested the idea aloud. "But there are still passwords to room that we will need to find."

"We have a hacker," Chris pointed out, looking to me.

"Limited," I corrected.

"We've gotten through Umbrella's security before," said Barry, with more optimism than he'd had before. "We can do it again, I'm sure."

"So how're we going to get rid of the building afterwards?"

Chris shrugged. "They'll be sure to have explosives."

Barry slipped back into the skeptic, a heavy sigh escaping through his down turned lips. "Chris, this is a _pine _forest in the middle of _summer. _Do the words 'fire hazard' mean anything to you? Forget the drill; it'll turn into a bush fire."

"Well," Chris said, disappointed to see this big flaw in his planning, "Do you have any ideas?"

It was Henare who answered. "Not for blowing the building up, but we're sure to think of a way when we get in their and see what they have for us to level the ground, or whatever."

Barry, twisting a twig anxiously in his hands, shook his head. "You guys don't understand. Not everything has a self destruction button. You don't believe me? You can't press a button on the steering wheel and have your car implode. We've been lucky the last few times in that the bases have been owned by manic nut-cases. Not this time. We won't find a button that says '_press me and make your troubles go BAM'_."

We fell silent. Defeat stared us in the face already, and we hadn't even made it in.

"But," he continued, cocking his head on an angle and tapping the twig against his chin. A speculative look stole into his eyes.

"Something on your mind?" Chris asked knowingly.

Barry shrugged. "If Ruth can get us in, I can get the place a more practical equivalent of sky-high."

Knowing Barry's word to be his bond, the eyes all swiveled back to me. Suddenly it hit me that I had just signed myself off to be the sacrificial goat.

_Oh fuck._

I hadn't meant to volunteer myself – I hadn't expected they would actually allow me to do it. But I couldn't back out now. I'd rather no one think of me as a hypocritical coward, thank you very much. Mustering all the dignity and bravado a body can house, I nodded regally. "Sure. Let's go. None of them will suspect an enemy will just waltz up to them."

"What? Now?"

Everyone looked concerned. "Don't go running off with a half-cooked plan," Barry warned, "once you're in there we have no way to contact you. And we need this to work."

"Trust me." Feeling far from trusting myself, I scrambled down the tree. "I'll make sure there's a way in for you on, say, the eastern side." My feet hit the had-packed dirt, shaking slightly inside the shoes and not only from the strain of suspending my body in the air.

The others were not far behind, letting their disagreements being heard. In the end, after twenty minutes of low, heated arguments in the open it was decided that this was the best chance we had. All the while I was arguing, I was hoping someone would offer me a life line. No such luck. I was going in.

And so I found myself drifting across the open tussock as if in a dream. Once again, the odd detachment of my mind startled me. I tried to force myself to focus on the direness of the situation, but then decided not to. After all, the fear factor – if it decided to kick in, and I was sure it would sooner or later – would be more paralyzing than the bite of a particularly noxious spider to a fly.

_Confidence,_ I told myself. A lot of playing this game is confidence. If you look like you belong, people will think that you do. This was something I had never been taught, but had learnt independently like so many others. It was a survival lesson, from those who got picked on at school, those used to getting cat-calls or less savoury remarks when walking along the streets, and those who had someone following some feet behind them on a dark street. Confidence was an under-rated useful weapon.

Unfortunately, it can not be faked. Or at least, I can't fake it. I had to feel a spark of confidence.

Half-way across the tussock and still no complications. So far, so good... so far. Well, that was a little bit of a confidence booster at least. I ran a smoothing hand over my hair, checking it was still tied back and had no burrs in it. I needed it to look messy, but not suspiciously so. As far as I could tell, it was good. I replaced the hat on my head.

Feeling the eyes of AVO on my figure was not exactly comforting. I wondered what would happen to them if I screwed this up. It was our one and only chance, and to do it well Umbrella would have to be left with no possible way of knowing of our involvement. They might be able to suspect, but they must not be able to _know _who's responsible.

That would effectively sign the AVO's death warrants.

I reached the neatly planted line of native trees without incident, finding little cover in the shade of the slender, branch-free trunks. From there I followed a small, white concrete path that winded around some small, flax-filled gardens to stand in front of the intimidating Umbrella building. The windows were a darkened glass and the walls gleaming brightly. In front of the large, glass entrance – for Umbrella was extravagant even when no one would see – stood two guards dressed in camouflage print.

I will not lie by saying fear didn't hit me then, making me almost sick to my stomach. But I overcame that fear to keep walking with my head held high through the doors – and isn't that what makes someone courageous?

_They're wearing camouflage print. That makes it easier for you._

Everything about me seemed heavy, reminding me of when I went swimming fully clothed. Everything was dragged down by the water and this made even the smallest of movements a trial. It felt like that now. Pressure is a terrible thing.

"Hi there," one of the guards called.

I did my best to look at ease, turning towards him with a polite smile. He was not the most handsome man out there; with a nose broken several times and watery blue eyes fringed by thick eyelashes in a manner that made him look startled. He seemed even less attractive when I noticed his eyes never glanced above my neck.

I huffed, folding my arms over my chest. "What?"

"Are you new here? I never forget a pretty face."

_Oh puh-lease. Does that line work on anyone?_

Shelving my inner eye-roll, I gave a strained smile. "Yes, I'm new."

"Well," he said, eyes flickering over my figure. "Let me show you round."

A stroke of luck! And I knew better than to think this sex-crazed security guard was attracted to me because of my appearance. This depraved creature only noticed me because I was female, in the same way some men leer at skirts, not the person wearing it. But if it helped me get past security, that was fine. I could figure out a way of loosing this demon fast enough.

"That would be great," I replied, fighting nausea to flash the repulsive individual what my friend from high school would have dubbed a 'candy-lipped' smile.

"See ya later, Mack."

The other sentry just nodded, rolling his eyes at me with no effort to hide them. "He's a player," he whispered lowly as I went past. I nodded. I could have picked that from a mile away.

Through the front entrance was a reception like desk, with a frumpy, middle aged woman. Her graying hair was frizzy and had the stringy look of hair uncared for. Her waist-band was wide and her skin sallow in the way only prolonged use of nicotine can make it. Her teeth were, surprisingly enough, a dazzling white through overuse of whitening toothpaste. Eyes were sunken beady orbs in a wrinkled and dour face.

"Gorgeous," my escort crooned, "How are you today?"

_There's some use of poetic license, _I thought uncharitably. I shouldn't have even thought it – after all, no one would ever describe me as an oil painting. But this hag was one of the people who you look at and see the neon sign saying 'ENEMY'.

The feeling was mutual. I could see it in the way she flicked her eyes over me with unchecked animosity. She grunted. "Who's she?"

"Jennifer Tappen," I said easily, not bothering to sound polite. Hey, if she hates me, she hates me, and she's not going to listen to anything said by her enemy now, is she?

"That's not a regulation uniform."

I began to shake – this was it. One of the hurdles I had to cross. "I've been out training and running through the pine forest, you know, getting some exercise."

She frowned when I mentioned 'exercise'. Maybe it sounded like I was implying something.

"She's new here," the watery-eyed man clarified.

She snorted gently. "And already all over the men, eh?"

_Oh my God. It's the reincarnation of old Mrs. Nitta._

Mrs. Nitta was my English teacher, a bag of a woman who did not stop to consider the implications of her sharp words on someone already weakened by adolescence. In fact, these two were much alike.

_Tread carefully, Ruth. If she doesn't like and wants to go through a whole security check to hold you up, then you're screwed. So just smile and walk away politely._

_Sod that._

"At least some of us can be all over men," I said cuttingly.

And with that elegant parting riposte, I turned on my heel and left, dragging my guide with me.

"Hang on," he protested, "I have to sign us both in!"

He had quiet chats with the old hag, showing him his ID card. When they looked at me, I flicked my plain black one at them, and then folded my arms feverishly again, begging, hoping, praying... and then the sleaze walked over to me. I'd gotten through the first step.

"Ugh," I simmered, though I was secretly pleased I had gotten through so fast. Finding this guide was a very useful stroke of luck. "What an intolerable woman!"

"She surely is, our Maude. But you learn to love her."

"I doubt it," I muttered.

"So. Jennifer. That's a pretty name."

_You are _desperate, _my man._

"Huh, hey, I feel like Richard Gere standing next to you, pretty woman."

I couldn't take it anymore. I had planned to get him to show me around, but obviously my porn-look was just too effective.

_Hey, at least there's always another career option for you!_

"I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Chad," he replied, flashing teeth at me in what was undoubtedly supposed to be a debonair manner.

_Oh brother._

"Well... Chad... can you please show me the way to the break rooms? I wouldn't want to keep you from your duties."

"No that's okay," he said breezily, "Mack can cover for me. Here, it's this way."

We went through more security stops. Each time I saw the uniforms my legs turned to jelly and I wondered if this would be the time when I let the AVO's down. But Chad always took care of it, seeming to shelter me. No doubt I was supposed to feel gratitude, and I did. But only because he was helping me to take down his employers.

"Where are all the scientists?" I asked.

Apart from some bored security guards who were off duty wandering the corridors, and the men at security check points, there was absolutely no one else around. The drab, wide hallways were unfilled.

"Either in their labs, crash-rooms or traveling home about now," said Chad listlessly. This was a subject that clearly bored him. "Security here's a bit of a joke, because there's no one to keep it secure from."

He gave a short series of barks that was evidently meant to be laugh, and I managed a nervous giggle myself.

"Here, the break room."

The break room was really more of a cafeteria area with a pool table, a TV and some couches. Where food would be displayed was now being cleaned by a quiet young woman with her hair pulled back into a hairnet.

_The best paid lunch lady in the world._

It was empty but for one man, a scientist, who had his feet up watching a rugby match on TV. In his large mitt-like hand he held a Moro Bar from a nearby vending machine. His lab coat was hanging gently around the chair behind him, and now he was wearing only blue jeans and a red t-shirt. He glanced at Chad and I, and sighed.

"Still terrifying every lady who crosses your path, Chad?"

Chad scowled, looking at his feet. He didn't reply.

"Go on, Chad; get back to your post before the boss realizes you're gone."

The pale sentry who had gotten me through so many of his own security checks disappeared meekly. The scientist watched me for a second, and then went back to staring at the screen.

I sat down beside him. How could a man like Chad be silent in the presence of this person?

There was only one explanation; this was one of the head researchers.

_Be careful._

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as much as I could without appearing rude. He was as pleasant featured as Chad was repugnant. Not that he was drop-dead gorgeous or even close, but if I saw him in the street I would've thought 'married with children'. His hair was dark, short and slightly spiked. His eyes were ice-blue and sombre.

"You support the Blues?" he asked, still looking at the screen. Now that I had my suspicions as to who he was – something that terrified me – even his voice had casual confidence by the litre.

I shook my head. "Nah, Crusaders."

"They're a good team," he admitted, "and always beat my favouties; the Highlanders."

"You like the Super12?"

"I like all sports." He smiled at me. "It might seem odd to see a Head Researcher with a passion for sports, seeing as I'm supposed to spend all my time indoors. As you can probably already guess, I'm Christopher Finch. No relation to anyone from 'To Kill a Mocking Bird'."

I took the offered hand, encasing it in my own. "Jennifer Tappen," I said, cursing my luck. I had to come in contact with the man who would know every one of his staff.

_Keep Calm, and find an excuse to leave._

"Are you new here?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

"Hmm." He watched as a try was scored against his team. "That's not a regulation shirt you're wearing."

_Uh-oh._

"Sorry."

"Don't worry," he said in that dismissive, confident voice. "It looks good. Besides, no one really ever comes here so it doesn't matter what you wear."

"Er, thank you." I gazed around. "I'd better go. Probably I'm supposed to be somewhere."

"Fine, fine."

I walked quickly away, trying to hold onto my whole idea of being confident. I had just come face to face with the Head freaking Researcher and he hadn't thought anything suspicious. My spirits were lifting as I placed a hand on the doorknob.

"Do I know you?"

_Jinx._

I turned towards Christopher Finch. He was leaning towards me, confusion barely visible in his veiled eyes.

"I don't think so... sir."

The confusion turned to suspicion. "I could've sworn..."

I waited with baited breath, suddenly remembering that Umbrella knew me as 'Amanda Stevenson'.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

But I should've known that Chris, Jill, Barry and Matheson wouldn't let me go if they thought this was the case. They were more up on the draw than I was. Why would a top secret facility far away be notified of someone who broke into a file cache? Umbrella lived by budget cuts.

"Funny. You're the spitting image of some one."

I bobbed my head in relief, and ducked out the door. "Nice to meet you, sir."

So, breaking into Umbrella proved to be easier than I would have ever imagined. All you need to do is find a desperate guard and use him to get through security. Who'd have ever thought luck could be so good?

I glanced at the cork-screw attachment of my Swiss army knife.

_Indeed._

If only this luck would hold.

* * *

_(Sych77 is busy avoiding a new batch of badgers and so I have taken the chance, as the disembodied voice, to thank you for reading and guilt you into reviewing.)_


	16. 14 Hit the Fan

AUTHOR NOTE: sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to take so long, but I did. Err, sorry?

_**Zarbok –**_thank you! I was quite proud of myself for coming up with something so obvious! You should yell louder, Ruth really needs to pay attention to you. Yeah, I put all my stalkers and that sort of guy into Chad. They just _need_to be hurt. Wesker's gotten lost searching for badgers to make a stew. But on the bright side, no badgers have been trying to eat me since.

**_Rain – _**those badgers are tricky buggers. Yes, I'm sure the advice will come in handy! Its something all would-be desperadoes must keep in mind! Thank you for your review!

**_CassSpaz – _**thank you! Snake? Where? AHHHMYYGODDD, GETTTT IIT OFFF MEEEEE.

**_Synch14 – _**thank you! I want to see how it ends too, lol. I'll check your story out when I next get some spare time on the net.

**Chapter 14: Hit the Fan**

It was odd. All the while I was in my tree coming up with the idea of walking into the Umbrella facility, I'd had no idea what actually doing it would be like. Probably I'd always been under the belief that I wouldn't do it – that some divine intervention would stop me from doing the incredibly stupid. So it will come as no surprise that I drifted through the corridors in a world that seemed surreal.

I would like to say the corridors were riddled with the torment cries of the damned, but for the apprehension in my mind it could have merely been any one of the numerous corridors I've walked down in my life.

I was still on the ground floor. The rooms in here seemed to be the rooms employees went to when they had time off and wanted to relax – the break rooms, cafeterias, rooms for those on nightshift to sleep in. Which makes sense, I guess – the ground floor is the easiest to break into, so why would you put your most important rooms there?

The only problem was to get to the east side and find an entrance for the others, I had to go past all the guard check-points again.

I considered my options – I could set off the fire alarm first, and then leave an opening. But this didn't appeal to me – I'd rather know they had an entry than leave it to chance.

So I had only one choice – brave the guards.

At the moment I was on the Northern side, having come through the main entrance at the South and being led through the middle of the building by the very merry Chad. Keeping the direction of east in mind, I headed through the twisting corridors.

At least there was good air conditioning in here. Outside the day was still full of hot, dead air with only a gentle wind bringing heat from the south-east – I was able to tell the direction with my new found 'eastness'. I felt a strike of pity for STARS who were still outside sweltering.

As I got to the eastern side, I saw a group of guards milling around the open fire door. They were evidently respecting the 'no smoking in the workplace' law recently passed, for the door was open so they could talk to their outside-based smoker colleague.

As soon as I saw the fire door, I felt a rush of relief. At least there would be a door for STARS to come through, even though it was right in the open.

I walked passed them as nonchalantly as I could, managing a shy, friendly smile. They responded with nods and smiles of their own, and it struck me how it's not people who are evil, it's the mob. The mindless cruelty of the mob is terrifying. People are more like cattle than they think – ever seen a stampede of cattle?

"Get rid of Chad?" One teased.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "One can only hope."

Having been introduced to me by the office scandal, the men and women didn't find me the least bit suspicious. I guess I really owed Chad something – but I'm not sure what, and as I was a little bit busy I doubted he'd get anything. I wondered if HCF's security was similarly easy to breach.

I moved past them, down the corridor a bit until, if the sound of laughter and talking was anything to go by, they had forgotten my presence.

Finding another entrance here, excluding the fire door, was depressingly easy as there were large windows every few steps. I opened the third one from the corner, pushing it as wide as I dared, and then opened the one almost at the corner as a back up. Hopefully that would be enough, and without knocking down part of the wall I doubted there was much more that I could do.

_Right, now to set off the fire alarm._

_An excellent idea, even if I do say so myself. Don't reckon my nerves can hang out for much longer._

I scanned the walls, seeing only a few doors. There was a light-switch at the corner and some modern art hanging on the wall, but no handy fire alarm switch. On the ceiling were the small sprinklers, which at least indicated that the place had a fire alarm. I just had to find it.

I stood in the corner for a few seconds. _If I were a fire alarm, where would I be?_

_Outside the labs. In the kitchen._

Well, there was a cafeteria thing around here. Surely the kitchen would be on the ground floor too? And I had a better chance of getting to that rather than to the labs, which could either be above or somewhere below me. No, I decided, kitchen was a very good idea.

So now I just had to get there.

The easiest way would be to ask.

Shaking ever so slightly, even though most of the danger seemed to have passed, I walked back to the group hanging around the door. They were men and women, wearing camouflage gear much like myself, and seemed to be bemoaning the weather.

"Hey," I said, feeling 'excuse me' would sound too formal, "do any of you guys know the best way to the kitchen?"

A woman turned towards me. "We're not allowed to go into the kitchen."

"Bugger." I put in all my light-heartedness. "I was hoping to raid the fridge."

"There's vending machines around. We're going to go play pool for a bit – you could follow us, there's ones in that room, and maybe join in the game?"

"Sure, thank you." I felt anything but thankful. This was another group of people I had to hoodwink and then evade. But I guess that's what I should have thought about before volunteering myself for the experience of a lifetime.

I followed with the group meekly.

This was noticed by the woman who asked me to join them in playing pool. She reminded much of Doc Spence, who patched my stitches up for (hopefully) the final time. In fact, I would go so far as to say she was a thinner, younger version of the good doctor. They shared a rounded, friendly face that was well-fitted with a curving smile and kindly eyes. Not conventionally pretty, perhaps, but not exactly unphotogenic.

"Feeling intimidated?"

I nodded. "Just a little bit, yeah."

She laughed, peel-like exclamations of mirth showering around me. "You should! There are all manners of bastards around here. Chad's only the beginning!"

"Oh, great." In order to sound more informed, I continued, "Though Doctor Finch doesn't seem too bad."

The woman choked on her laughter. "Christopher Finch? As in Head Researcher Finch?"

I nodded uncertainly, wondering if I'd said the wrong thing.

"Well, I guess as far as Head Researchers go, he's not bad..."

"Yep," another replied, "Only ten people are killed for incompetence and brought back to life every month."

"He does have restraint."

I smiled, taking it to be a joke. Those around me seemed to enjoy it more than I did.

We were soon in the room where I had met Researcher Finch not so long ago. He was still there, absently watching the sports channel. When we came trooping in, he looked up, and I caught his predatory glance before it melted away into casual acceptance.

"Don't any of the guards ever go on guard duty?" he asked wryly.

"Yeah," my Doc Spence-esque friend replied dismissively, "But only when it suits us."

"Ah," he said, "well that's okay then." He watched us curiously as we began to set the pool table. I neglected the vending machines, and, luckily, no one seemed to notice. As I was chalking my cue, he said, "Time for a competition of pool, Hillary?"

"Quite so," said the woman, who was evidently named Hillary.

'Well, I guess I'd better show you amateurs how it's done." He took a cue and held out a hand towards me for the chalk.

And that was how I found myself playing pool amongst my enemies with Queen, "_Greatest Hits"_, playing in the background. The atmosphere was almost calming, and no doubt I would have enjoyed the experience if I wasn't trying to destroy the facility. At least Chad wasn't there – value the small blessings.

"Go on, Jennifer," Hillary said, someway through the game. I took the cue with a start- having nearly forgotten my alias – and leaned over the pool table.

_Okay, now... how do I play this shot?_

As a child, I had seen my dad go out to play pool with his friends – well, really, to go to a bar with the possibility of playing pool. When I was thirteen, I pestered him, with my brother's help, admittedly, to teach me to play.

'_Lean low over the cue. Line up the shot. Get the angle right. See where it's going.'_

'_Hold onto the cue loosely. Remember, one of the best players in the world holds it with only two fingers.'_

'_Judge the strength you need. And don't forget – if you hit above the middle, the white ball will stop when it hits another. Lower, and it'll roll forward.'_

'_Careful, careful. You're not thinking.'_

'_Focus on your cue and the white ball. That's all you can control.'_

I tried to follow the advice my memory threw at me. It was all about positioning, or so I had been told. So many things to remember. How other people managed to play without seeming to pause to consider all these tips was a mystery to me. But the sooner I finished the game, the sooner I could leave.

With everything lined up and advice tumbling in my mind, I took the shot.

The number seven ball rolled calmly into a pocket. I got another shot, and joy-of-joy, it had been unintentionally well-positioned. Ah, serendipity is a splendoured thing.

I was playing for Hillary's team, and this was the last ball needed before we had to sink the black 8. I eyed it up – the red ball – and felt some of my old skill sink back to me. Feeling much more relaxed, I readied myself for the next shot. Almost without noticing, a few lines of the song slipped through my lips.

"It ain't much I'm asking, if you want the truth..." I put all the strength and control I could into the shot. Red ball, no doubt guided by Lady Luck with whom I had hitherto been having somewhat of lover's spat, hurtled into the far corner and dived into the pocket. "Here's to the future, hear the cry of youth! YEAH!"

"Nice," Hillary commented, smirking at the opposition. Then her eyes traveled back to the table, and her smirk quickly disappeared.

One of the rules of pool is that when you shoot for the black '8' ball, you can't miss it. And the line up I had before me had two of the oppositions balls side by side between the white and the black. Impossible to hit the black ball with the white.

Well, impossible if you played fairly.

Perhaps in this game my father had gifted me some of his legendary luck or skill, for he was a talented pool, billiard and snooker player. And he could also cheat with talent too. He had pulled this particular trick on me many times.

'_If you hit the cue ball straight, the two between it will push it away in the opposite direction. Try it.'_

I had done so, and seen the three balls fly away leaving the black one unscathed. I tried this many times with varying degrees of power behind the cue, all with same result. It was impossible.

'_I can't do it. But how can you do it all the time?'_ I was young, naïve and almost innocent. The idea that my father would have exploited this to win had never crossed my mind.

He had smiled, taken his cue and lined up the shot. With a quick jab, the white and coloured balls went rolling away, but the black one went into the pocket.

'_I'll show you in slow motion,' _he had said, laughing at my perplexed expression.

With deliberate care, he had rearranged the pool balls in the same position. Then, leaning over the table with his eyes on the cue ball, he moved slowly.

The cue had hit the white ball, which in turn had hit the two coloureds. These three balls then shimmied their way to the other side of the table. My father had then calmly moved the cue and hit the black ball in. It was a trick relying on fast movements and an unobservant, unsuspecting opponent. I had been duped all along.

It was this particular trick I intended to use now, and, if I did it right, get myself out of the game.

I made a great show of umm-ing and ah-ing, and then finally hit as hard and fast as I could. The cue tip pushed aside the white and colours, and connected with the black. I had misjudged the angle of my shot, sending the ball flying into the corner and rebounding a bit before settling down, but I had supposedly done the impossible.

Keeping my face as un-satisfied as I could, I gazed at the expressions of those around me. They were awe-struck and laughing at my 'great' achievement – obviously they had never played against cheaters such as my father and I, - except for one.

Christopher Finch, the one man I didn't want to make suspicious. His arms were folded against his chest and his eyes trained on my face. It was obvious something had struck his attention, and I doubted he would finding cheating in a friendly game of pool so riveting.

_Okay, time to leave, I think._

I muttered some pale excuse about needing to find a bathroom, and left the area. Maybe going to the kitchen was off the plan books. I stumbled through the emptier corridors, passing a few harassed looking sentries – and one bedraggled, frantic scientist – before I came to the lift.

Looking around, and seeing no one, I slipped into the elevator and allowed the doors to close me in the small room.

The elevator was a mirror-walled box with an emergency phone and interesting control panel. This control panel had a card-reading slot, buttons with the floors – nine in all – and a little display. Feeling hopeful, I pressed the button 'B-4'.

The display came to life, helpful red letters asking me to swipe my security card. I looked around guiltily, as if I expected to see someone behind me. But there was no one, and seemingly no security camera. I pressed the button for the first floor, and was relieved to see the display dim into darkness.

The familiar jolting sensation of the lift didn't last very long, and soon I was on the first floor. It looked, from the elevator doorway, a ward of some sort. I didn't wish to meet any of Umbrella's invalids. I hit the F-2 button and went up again.

The doors slid apart, my mirror self dividing in two and disappearing. This floor looked more useful. Though obviously not important enough to warrant key-card protection, it seemed to have few laboratories. And where there were Bunsen burners, there generally were fire alarm switches.

Walking around the corridors showed me that no one was working on this floor tonight. Well, good. It made it all the much easier for me.

The first room was neat, and tidy in the grubby way that well-used rooms can be – much like a school science lab. There was nothing incriminating on the benches, no files, nothing. Although, one closer inspection of the door, there was this post-it note:

'_Jim Beckerman; please CLEAN the instruments you use. This includes the surface you carry out your dissections, the scalpel you use, and the towel you dry your hands on. We wouldn't want an infection now, would we? Regards, etc, and make sure this doesn't happen again – C Finch.'_

So, something was going on. What... I have no idea. But something.

_Probably something devious._

At least there was a fire switch on the far side of the lab. I ran over to it, and inspected the red box. The glass was still intact, with the scored 'x' to show where one was supposed to hit in case of an emergency. It looked to be in order.

_Now, most fire alarms like this are hooked to the fire brigade. Who would Umbrella call when they got into trouble?_

_Another unit of UBCS, of course. Who knows what could have caused the fire?_

We'd have to move fast then. The building wouldn't stay empty.

Praying that Chris, Jill, Henare and Barry were nearby and ready to make a run for it as soon as they could hear the fire alarm, I dug around in a small cupboard under a bench. In the darkness of the cupboard, lit only by the setting sun coming through the window, my fingers came in contact with what could only be a Bunsen burner. Pulling it to where I could see the object confirmed my suspicions.

A rusting, old Bunsen burner that probably hadn't been used for years.

But that was okay, because I wasn't trying to start a fire. I was trying to start a fire alarm. Big difference. Instead of lighting the thing, I whacked it against the fire switch panel. Unfortunately, I drew back at the last minute, and the burner connected with a faint 'punk'.

_Don't hang back._

I tried again, this time making a 'tunk'.

_Still hanging back. What are you trying to do, play a rhythm?_

Deciding that this was it, that this time I was going to break the damn thing, I swung back the Bunsen burner and crashed it into the glass screen with all the strength I could muster. Well, the glass certainly did break as it was designed to, but I think the shatter effect went a little too well.

Leaning over the fragmented glass – _oops- _I flicked the fire alarm switch. Almost immediately, the annoyingly loud blearing of the alarm kicked in. Watching from the window, I saw the confused guards on the bottom floor dash out, looking at the building curiously.

I pulled away from the window, and ran through the floor to try to find the fire stairs. After several frantic moments I was beginning to despair. What if there were no stairs?

_There has to be!_

I didn't trust the lift – not if late-working scientists were traveling down in that. In frustration I threw a fit at the only electronically locked door on the second floor, somehow pulling at the handle. It swung open, revealing the stairs.

_Wow. This security panel must be unlocking when there's an emergency._

_Well, that should certainly come in handy._

I checked above me as far as I could see to make sure no scientists, or B.O.W's for that matter, would be following me down the white, grating-like stairs. I could hear the clattering steps of people below, and figured it would be safe to go down myself.

These stairs were obviously not built with comfort and ease in mind. Every step had to be taken at a jarring downwards angle, until I was seriously considering trying my luck sliding down the banister. It didn't help that it was spiraling down in a small, boxed-room with absolutely no appeal whatsoever. And also that the suspicion of a particular head researcher haunted my mind.

_He wouldn't be so interested in me cheating, would he? Okay, so he probably knows what I did because he seems a relatively professional player – but that wouldn't make him suspicious, would it? Nah. Must've been something else._

Shrugging him off as just a weird individual altogether – you had to be, if you were a head researcher, just think of Albert Wesker and the late Doctor Birkin – I focused my mind on the problem at hand. I needed to get to the ground floor, and stay near the east side but out of sight.

_Shouldn't be too difficult, _I reasoned.

There was a door to the ground level. It was a pale blue on this side, with 'GROUND FLOOR' written in dark blue capitals over it. And, joy of joys, it was not locked either. Obviously Umbrella was beginning to care more about their employees than their secrecy, although I assumed that all the other security measures would still be in place.

Outside of the fire stair's downward leading corridor, the ground floor seemed extremely quiet. Maybe it was just because every sound had been magnified and echoed in the stairs, or maybe it was because I could hear the far-off speculation of the Umbrella employees as they congregated a safe distance away and awaited orders.

Well, at least it was empty. That was the main thing.

I snuck down the corridors, trying to be as light-footed as a shadow. I saw the wide open windows on the east side, along with the wide open fire door, and shrank into the darkness to wait. STARS would be here soon, and then we could get everything moving.

At least the sun had finally relinquished its grip on the sky, and the world was getting darker.

I had barely settled myself to wait before I heard deliberate footsteps.

_AVO moves fast!_

But what did I expect? That they would hold back?

I took a step away from the wall, into a place where they could see me, ready to greet them and get down to business.

"Miss Tappen?"

Definitely not AVO.

Even with little light to show his face, I knew that I had come in contact with Christopher Finch again. Do they Irony Guards hate me? Do they? They must. But I had to try to get myself out of this one.

"Doctor Finch," I said, trying my best to keep the tension out of my voice, "hello. Is this a drill or is there a real fire somewhere?"

"I don't know, Miss Tappen. Although I assume the latter, as I have not been forewarned of a fire drill and, being the overseer of this fine facility, it is my duty to know what goes on. Are you familiar with our fire drill procedure?"

I raised and lowered one shoulder. "Not really, no."

He continued walking, and I was clearly meant to follow him. "What happens is everyone immediately leaves where they are, perhaps locking the door if they are in a lab, and meets at the small creek that runs near here. Coopers Creek. Do you know where that is?"

Experiencing some dry-mouth, I trusted myself only to nod.

"It's a funny thing," he commented, his voice casually cruel, "because when the first security guards got there, they saw some people trying to actually make their way towards the building. Naturally they were detained."

_Oh my 'effing' god._

"But it makes me wonder, who would have set off the fire alarm if this was all some sort of planned mission? And then I remembered a girl who I had only seen for the first time today, and reminded me so strongly of..."

He paused for a bit. I didn't wait for what was coming next, I knew that it was over. It wasn't my fault, per say, but the guilt factor was there and in full strength.

His hand grabbed my shoulder. The casualness in his voice had completely disappeared into roughness. "Do you know you're the second group to come here? Did you really think I wouldn't be on my guard?"

I didn't reply. There was nothing I could say, and even if there was my mind was too numb to get to it. I had, just a few seconds ago, been certain everything would go to plan. But now... no. Everything had gone to shit.

He pushed me in front of him, directing me to some unnamed room.

We had lost our chance.

* * *

_(Mildly evil cliff hanger. Now the midden hits the windmill. But, in the words of the legendary Terry Pratchett's lisping 'Igor', there'th nothing like a thort thower of thit to get thingth really exthiting. I hope my swearing has not offended anyone. I swear a lot in real life – its like punctuation. oh, and the pool playing is relevat. I have not put it in merely because I like pool/billiard/snooker/whatever. PLEASE REVIEW! COME ON, COME ON!)_


	17. 15 More than a Game

**_Zarbok - _**thank you! I thought the title was very fitting. Nice saying! I actually gave Christopher Finch his last name because 'To Kill a Mockingbird' was sitting near me at the time, lol. OMIGOD THANK YOU! I feel so loved! In thanks I have made Wesker collect some badgers and onions for you. He's sitting at the table hopefully, looking a bit hungry. THANK YOU!

**_Rain - _**thanks for the review! Yes, everything just seemed to go wrong at the wrong moment. Ruth also cheated at Monopoly - remind me never to play anything against her!

**_CassSpaz - _**it's in my shoe. No one ever dares to check the shoe. Thanks for the review!

**15 - More than a Game**

The room I was led to was small, and dark. Evidently it was a crash room, and thus big enough only for a bed, allowing some room so the door could open and close the whole way. A blind inspection a bit later on would show there was no window, just a framed painting hanging on the wall.

"Stay here," he whispered vehemently, "and don't think of moving. There'll be someone guarding the locked door until I order otherwise and, trust me on this, I won't order otherwise."

And then, seemingly before I could blink, I was disarmed and he had disappeared. I was alone, alone, alone.

I had stood motionless for eternity just past the door before I raised a questing hand to find the lightswitch around the door frame. Eventually I found it, switching it up. Yellow light bathed the room instantly, making my eyes smart.

Then, it cut out. So did the previously incessant wailing of the fire alarm.

In the silence that followed, everything seemed loud and echoing.

Carefully, I tried the door handle, sliding it slowly under my hand. It was locked. There was no escape from the box-like room.

Again I stood silent, wondering what was going on. Surely it was a coincidence if the lightbulb blew at the same time the fire alarm went off? Too much of a coincidence, mores the pity.

I took one staggering step towards the bed and fell face forward onto it. It was surprisingly comfortable, especially considering that I had been expecting it to be as hard as one of these prison beds you hear about. A surprising number of HCF's employees had spent a stint in prison – which, contrary to the laws of logic, made them more reliable. They _knew _about pain.

_What's going to happen now?_

_Whatever happened to the other STARS, and I'm willing to bet that didn't involve a luxury cruise towards salvation._

The room smelt clean yet neglected – like the odour of a holiday house that has been recently clean but not used since the last holiday season. A slightly musty smell, I guessed, that has the effect of making the person smelling it become lost in nostalgia.

It was weird to be on the edge of the unknown and clinging to the past like it could save me, but that's what I was doing. Clutching at memories. The faces of my friends... what would they be thinking? Henare and the others... what was happening to them?

_How could Max get tied up with people like Christopher Finch?_

My brother was, in short, a geek. A good guy with a brilliant sense of humour and a healthy instinct for survival maybe, but a geek none the less. He often was picked on at school, I remember that. I think it might have been this that made him a bit cowardly. His mind was as sharp as tacks, and if he could convince me it was a good idea, I would have followed him to the edge of the world.

I turned on my side, gazing at the door and wondering what guard stood a lonely sentinel outside it. I wondered if it was Chad, smarting at how I used him to get through. Maybe he'd receive punishment for that. In fact, most likely he would. It was enough to make me feel a little guilty, even if the guy was a sleaze. Probably he only signed up because he thought it was a good way to meet chicks. Imbecile.

I couldn't get comfortable. I don't think I would have been able to if I had taken a trip to Buckingham Palace and booted Queen Lizzie out of her royal bed and stolen that for the night. Too many things were running through my brain. Often AVO swept across my mind – what about Claire Redfield and Sherry Birkin? What about _them? _Would they ever feel safe again? Would they ever actually _be_ safe again? No, it was not a time for comfort.

Every second passed in growing dread that soon the head researcher would come back, and it wouldn't be the music I faced; it would the Umbrella version of the Gestapo and Spanish Inquisition mixed into one. My dread was well founded. And the scenarios popping up in my brain weren't exactly putting me at ease.

People with vivid imaginations are cursed.

I waited.

And waited.

There was no sound outside my room, with the fire alarm being silent. Then, all of a sudden, there was a loud crash from below.

I stood slowly and leaned against the door, trying desperately to listen for an indication as to what was happening out there. The silence now seemed fake to my ears, like a thousand people just behind the door were holding their breath and waiting to see what I would do.

And then, the scraping sound of a foot as it scuffed the ground. Some one was coming.

I stayed close to the door, listening to the quiet and cat-like approach . There was something else too, a gentle clicking. A sound that seemed distant, only carrying to me because of the echoing quality of wood. It was so very, very faint…

_What is that?_

The loud turning of the lock mechanism startled me, and the door swung outside. Startled at having my leaning post move, I fell forward onto the ground. Twisting my neck, I could see the wryly amused face of Christopher Finch. I pushed myself off the ground and drew myself to my full height – which, admittedly, isn't much to sing about. Then, with all the impassiveness that I could muster, I asked, "What's happening here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing."

He had no manners, just grabbed my elbow and hauled me along after him. Then, stopping in the darkness around the corner, he turned a marble expression towards me. "How many people did you come with?"

I replied with a blank look.

"Who else is here?"

"How am I supposed to know? I've been locked in a crash room for who knows how long."

"About half an hour."

_Oh. _

It seemed like eternity.

"So who else is here?" his confident voice was tainted with impatience and just the slightest twinge of worry.

I looked around, finally realizing what had seemed so wrong. "Why are the lights all out?"

"Because one of your lovely companions cut the power," he spat through gritted teeth, "and rerouted back up so only the electronic doors are supplied."

"So surveillance isn't working, then?"

No answer. _So that's a no then, isn't it? _

"Who else is here?"

"I don't know."

"I don't think you understand how serious the situation is, _Jennifer._ Umbrella doesn't take kindly to people snooping around their facilities and I in particular don't like trespassers or liars. You may as well try to redeem yourself."

"And I would," I replied dully, "If I had anything that I could use as redemption."

Christopher Finch sighed heavily. He must have been worried. "We have four people in custody that were found in Cooper's Creek. Is there anyone else?"

I didn't reply.

Another large thump sounded somewhere in the building.

The Head Researcher was at the end of his patience, which is not surprising for such people are not necessarily known for their patience when it comes to dealing with other people. He placed the barrel of his previously holstered gun at the hollow of my neck. "I'm only going to ask this once more," he whispered lowly, breath tickling my ear. "Is there anyone else here?"

Shelving the urge to swallow nervously, I admitted that as far as I was aware, there was no one else with us.

He seemed satisfied by this answer at least, taking the muzzle away from my neck. I rubbed at the place where it had been, finally beginning to understand that this man was just as dangerous as Harold Corwin, if not more so at this point in time.

"Good," he murmured, "At least that's something."

He pulled at my elbow again, and we started walking through the darkened corridors. It was spooky. I half expected to hear that the T-virus had leaked and that I was going to be attacked by zombies.

But like I said when I started my account; not everything plays out like a movie.

I tripped. Over a pot-plant, if you must know. A small indoor fern with rubbery leaves, which fell over and sprayed a loose dusting of soil over the ground. As Christopher was holding onto my elbow, my sudden stumble caused him to be pulled slightly off balance too.

"Ouch," I muttered. It had hurt more than any pain a plant should be able to inflict.

I could've sworn the scientist rolled his icy eyes. "Hurry up, Miss Tappen."

"Well, it would be a lot easier if I could _see, _or if I knew where I was going…"

"I'm going to the surveillance room, and as I can hardly leave you unguarded for any longer, you have got to come with me."

"What?!" I screeched, "I wasn't under sentry?"

"No," he said with indecent satisfaction. "And then, if surveillance won't start working, I'm going to have to deal with your and your friends earlier than I would have liked. Interrogation might have to be skipped."

Well, that thoroughly killed my confidence for the night. I could've opened the door and walked out, if only I'd had the courage, if only I'd known, if only I'd picked the lock. If only, if only. There goes that wistful thinking again. But the effect of his words were to make me feel crumpled.

The girl who not so long ago skipped down the fire stairs full of hope and confidence... she was a fool.

_NO! That's what he wants you to think. Remember all that time ago, when your teacher made you read that book simply so you would come across one sentence? I can't remember the book's name, but I remember that one sentence._

_It was something about how you can't defeat a person. You can only defeat their confidence. If their confidence shatters, then you've beaten them. Remember?_

_That's what he's trying to do to you now. So don't let him._

_Do you really want to through your life away because you're so deep in self pity you're drowning?_

No. No, there was a time for misery and bemoaning one's worth, but this wasn't it. If I started worrying about how worthless I was now... well, then I was really. Time to climb back on the horse.

"That's a big gamble," I managed.

"I know," he said easily. "But I know you. I can see your mind. Your thoughts, they're transparent. I knew you would take it for granted that I would hold true to my word. And I knew that if doubt raised its head, you'd choose caution. Besides, its not like there's a lot you could use to pick the lock."

"Why are you talking to me?" His words stung. They weren't necessarily faults – well, they were the way he said them – but they stung. "Why not the others?"

"Because I know you. And I know you want to live more than you want to be considered a 'good guy'."

I snorted as we started up the fire stairs. "You keep saying that. How do you know me?"

There was a pause as we began our ascent. Then, boots striking the steel heavily, he decided to answer. "You know, I wasn't always a Head Researcher here. At one point, I didn't even like science. I wanted to be a fire-fighter. I wanted it so much I made my parents by me a little model fire truck that became my most valued childhood toys. But childhood dreams change."

I nodded my agreement, finding Christopher Finch's dream oddly ironic.

"But a talent scout of Umbrella's approached me, and I accepted. I was young at the time. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. But for a time I enjoyed, often being compared to the others who came under the title of 'Umbrella's Prodigies'. But before I was a researcher, I was training to be in security."

I had a vague idea of where this was going, but didn't interrupt. Whatever kept the heat off me was gladly appreciated.

"I met there a young man named Maxwell Kaplan, who had a gift with computers and such things. I won't say we became fast-friends, but there were many times I was lucky enough to have a conversation and play some pool. He did mention his sister several times, and when I saw you I immediately thought of him. You look uncannily like a female version of him."

I pulled a face at this. _So everyone says._

"But the idea that you were an imposter didn't hit until I saw you playing pull. That moved that you pulled... I've only seen one other person who used that. And that, of course, was Max Kaplan. Am right in suspecting that he is your brother?"

"Yes," I admitted quietly, "Max was my brother."

"Then what is your name, Jennifer Kaplan?"

"Yes," I lied. What did he need to know my first name for anyway? So he could find out all about me from HCF files? No thanks.

"You are a lot like your brother, Jennifer, but you try not to be. That makes you easy to read."

We were silent for the rest of the journey up the steps, the only sound our echoing footsteps. By the time we got to the top floor, I was gasping – as silently as I could, so the researcher couldn't hear – from the strain. And my legs were beginning to feel a wobbly type of pain.

Finch opened the door, pushing it open and gesturing me to go through it. I did so, and then fell on the ground.

"What," Finch asked, "are you doing?"

"Stitches," I gasped, "already burst them open once; don't want to do it again."

He sighed, a big heavy sigh like an elephant. For one horrible instant I thought he was going to make me walk on them anyway, but then to me relief he flopped down on the ground next to me and leant against the wall, his head back and contemplating the tiled ceiling. He was meant to be much meaner, I thought idly, meant to be condescending and bitter.

So he wasn't the nicest guy around, but he wasn't as heartless as researchers are meant to be. Nor as creepy, though there definitely was something intimidating about him.

"How'd you get the stitches?"

I laughed wondering what he would say if I told him I'd gotten them breaking into another of Umbrella's facilities. "I don't think I can tell you that."

"Fair enough."

Again a silence reigned the area around us.

Eventually, when the pain in my legs was quickly fading into memory, he pushed himself up with one hand. "Come on," he said, offering the same hand to me, "It's not safe to stay in one place all the time."

Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, a great clatter came from down the hall. Immediately Finch pointed his firearm after the sound, taking quiet, deliberate steps towards the source.

This left me in a tricky situation. His attention was no longer on me – this could be my only chance for escape. But did I dare to run? He could shoot me before I made it back through to the stairs. And who was the person making Finch so edgy, if all my comrades were caught?

At least Finch was armed against attackers.

"Come," he hissed, and then I didn't have to worry about the deliberating any more.

There was an intersection of two corridors, creating a large 'x'. A light bulb was set in the ceiling, currently not working like all its companions. The sound had come from the hall to our left. I was walking on Chris Finch's right, and had to peer around him for a glimpse of the darkness.

For a long time we stood there, gazing into the gloom.

I couldn't shake the thought that someone was down there, arms crossed and smirking, shrouded by the darkness and able to see us clearly. Trying to refrain from laughing as we peered like fools.

I shuddered.

After we had been standing there for a while, we had no choice but to move on. With hesitating, cringing steps we continued out of sight of the intersection.

It reminded me of a time when I had been playing go-home-stay-home at night with my friends. We'd been playing in early autumn, so when the sun finally did go down the night was still pleasant. So we had decided to mix two of our favourite games – go-home-stay-home and spotlight together.

My friend Sally had been 'it'. We decided we had to make it to the old maple tree in the park across the road – it might sound odd to be running around late at night, but our area of town was safe and sheltered. We ran around without a care.

I had been making my way down through the trees in the park, almost at the maple tree, when I had accidentally kicked on old soda bottle someone had left lying around. It had alerted Sally to my presence, and she had come to see who was making all the noise.

I stood in the shadows of the trees, completely silent excepting the sound of my breathing. Sally had been almost motionless too, but the light from one of the neighbouring houses gave her a slight silhouette, and I could see as she scanned the area. I was quiet, so was she. Eventually Sally had left, and I had made it to the maple.

She'd said later she knew someone had to have been there. After all, plastic bottles don't kick themselves. She said she'd been able to feel my eyes on her as she stood there, searching the gloom. But she'd had little choice but to move on when I hadn't revealed myself, knowing that I could make my dash to freedom if I was still hiding in the trees out of sight.

I felt now rather like Sally must have done all those years ago, like I had just turned and allowed someone to take the winning sprint 'home'. Except this wasn't a game played by friends in a safe area. This was a game played in a warped science research facility, with unknown participants.

As I walked like Christopher Finch's shadow, I wondered what the person lurking in the darkness was up to, and what he or she would do with her chance.

We continued stealthily down the corridors, which were apparently empty. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, until I could make out the faint shapes of doors in the lighter areas of gloom. But we walked on past them, Christopher with his gun still raised.

"In here," he breathed, moving past me to a door on the right. The darkness didn't let me see the combination he punched in on a small key-pad, but he did his best to shield it from me anyway, finally sweeping a card through it. I could hear the door unlock, and then we moved inside.

The wall was lined with lifeless monitors, all of them blank and out of power. There was only one sign of life in the room wired with electronics, a steady red light. I assume it was one that told us there was no power, though I did wonder how it had the power to be on if this was so.

Christopher Finch moved through the door and over to the monitors, one hand waving over the controls. Then his hand turned into a fist, and he slammed it down upon them. "Damn!" he seethed, "God damn it!"

I was still standing in the doorway, with a good view of the room. He pushed past me, irate. I hesitated for a second before stepping out in the hallway to see if he was waiting for me.

He was already part-way down when he began to turn. The window to the side illuminated his face clearly, and I could see his expression change from anger to shock. As if in slow motion, I began to turn myself, wondering what I would see.

I never made it far enough to see Christopher Finch's vision. Instead, something grabbed my throat, squeezing at the pressure points before I could even raise a hand in my defense. Momentary pain flared in the back of my mind before the intention was reached, and I lost consciousness.

As I slipped into the darkness, my jumbled thoughts found a second to ponder why my attacker was using what was widely known to be a way of guaranteeing unconsciousness for about twenty minutes.

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_please review_


	18. 16 Dark Exploring

**AN: **_Sorry! Sorry! School has started up again and I'm not good at time management! They're not sparing the whip this year, so yes, delayed, sorry!_

_I have a feeling some of you might think this is too _'neat'._ And I can see that you would be right in thinking this. But, to hell with it, I sorta like it. If you don't, I apologize and ask you to bear with me for this chapter._

**Zarbok – **thanks! It's good to know someone thinks I'm improving! Snake stew? SNAKE! That sounds exotic! Wesker said to thank you for the stew. I never would have picked you as the sort people could bully, but I certainly don't think you're a sociopath! For one thing, you're just too cool, and for another, you were acting in defense of your surrogate sister! I think that makes you a Saint. Thanks for the review!

**Rain - **I do admit she has phenomenal bad luck! Probably because I'm pretty unlucky and have emphasized this characteristic on Ruth so I have some one to commiserate with, lol. Thanks for the review!

**CassSpaz – **You know the name for that? Lol, that's awesome! I'm glad to hear you think that she's well-written. Writing a Mary-Sue would turn to mortification! Thank you for the review, and update soon yerself, y'hear!

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**Chapter 16: **Dark exploring

I would really, really have loved to say I woke up on a four poster bed with Brahms' lullaby playing sweetly in the distance and a crystal chandelier softly illuminating a lavish room – but it was just not meant to be.

In reality – cold, cruel place it is- I woke slowly. My mind switched into consciousness and then a systematic full-body assessment was run. I deduced that I was lying on the concrete floor in a position somewhere between a starfish impersonation and the much acclaimed fetal ball. Indeed, not the most elegant way to awaken, but when have I ever been a Disney princess? My head felt achy, and my thoughts distant as if there was a thin layer of cotton muffling the murmurs of my brain. My neck twinged occasionally, but on the whole it looked like my unscheduled nap had helped the healing process.

I slapped one hand heavily against the cold concrete that had been my mattress, and pushed myself up on it. Then, as I lifted my head slowly to scan around me and take in the surroundings, I paused like I was doing one-handed pushups.

_Oh holy shit._

My arm soon began shaking under the weight of my body, reminding me once again that I had been neglecting my workout routine. But my physical fitness – or lack thereof – was the least of my worries at that particular point of time.

_Oh crap._

I scurried over in a crawl to kneel beside the body. The man was lying on his side, and I grabbed the shoulder to pull him to face me. As I had already guessed, the man was Christopher Finch, and he was very dead. His red t-shirt was stained with trickles of a darker crimson. As soon as I saw this I became aware of a grossly warm liquid seeping through the material of my army pants, and knew that I had just knelt in a puddle of researcher blood.

He was dead. A very quick search showed he had been robbed of both gun and security-pass, and that he had received a bullet to the gut.

From the placement of the bullet, I knew that for the last twenty minutes or so he had been bleeding while stomach acid had gently seeped through the puncture wound, resulting in self poisoning. A very painful way to go. Judging by the shining red smears in the moonlight, it looked like he had been gamely trying to get himself somewhere, probably an infirmary, for the first few seconds before pain and shock took over.

I stood, cringing as the blood-sodden material of my army pants came in to wet contact with my knees. There was no sign of the person who had done this. They had long since disappeared, and without a calling card.

I won't pretend that by this time I was immune to the terror inspired by seeing a dead body, but I was well on the way to become numb. Unlike the bucktoothed, bespectacled individuals who worked on finding novel new uses for the company's 'beneficiaries', I had to turn away from the dead man on the ground and ignore the feeling of his dead eyes on my back.

Condemning dead eyes, with their promise of inescapable inevitability.

Standing in the corridor was not a liberty I could allow myself. With Researcher Finch dead, at least I could wander at will. And I was saved any moral scruples about this fact because I was not the one who had killed him, and remaining a prisoner when there was no jailor would not revive him. I had no reason to stay.

_Not guilty. No way. Nothing to do with me whatsoever. I didn't kill him. I'm not at fault._

_Keep saying that, girl, make it truer._

I considered, then, finding the STARS was a necessity. Call me a wuss, but creepy Research facilities with murderers roaming around has a way of making me feel a little uncomfortable, and it's a well known and media exploited fact that there's safety in numbers.

_If I was a notorious prisoner, where would I be?_

They would have been taken into this building, that was a given. Darkness + forest easy to escape and elude captors. Personally, I would have put them in the top floor, away from all quick escape routes, excluding an attempt survive a five story fall and a splatter at the bottom.

But Umbrella in particular was infamous for its queer infatuation with basements...

But then again, Christopher Finch was an intelligent man. No doubt he had taken all things into consideration and then decided on the most defendable area…

_I'm really flying blind here. But hey, I'm on the second to top story. Let's check this one, and then go up and check out the top. If no one's there, I can just come down at check the basement. They have got to be found._

And so, with neck still smarting on the odd occasion, I left the empty body of Researcher Finch and delved into the darkness to find my companions. I quickly found that every room on the floor I was in was devoid of dirt and documents, but more importantly, devoid of my friends. I wasn't entirely surprised, as none of these rooms were guarded and must have been used for some unknown purpose.

For rooms that had locked doors, my confidence was much disturbed by having to knock loudly and inquire if someone was within.

Nevertheless, it became apparent that on this floor I would find nothing of notable worth. Nada, zilch, nothing. Not even a sign of the mystery killer.

I was beginning to get jittery, nerves slowly unraveling. The first sign was that I fancied I could hear whispering voices from people who dissolved into the shadows as soon as I turned to look. But knowing it was only a mind trick, I tried to ignore the whispering murmurers and focus on the task at hand.

_- (What was that? Did you hear that? Quiet, just the fruits of imagination. )- _

On the top floor there was some life. I slipped through the door that led to the stairs, as fluidly as I could, and caught the sound of a shushing voice. Though such whispers had been playing less than funny tricks on me for some time, I could instantly tell the difference between imaginary and real. Staying light on my feet, I moved away from the door as quickly as I could without compromising the silence.

"_Did you hear that?" _The voice was a light whisper, billowing around me like a gentle breeze. It was hard to pinpoint the direction it came from, but I headed to where I fancied it came from, eyes wide to take in as much of the surroundings as they could.

"_Hear what?" _

"_The sound of a door being opened."_

"No," the voice became bolder, seeming more solid. "It's just your mind playing tricks. Don't get so uptight! I haven't seen you so jumpy since you met Finch's new doggie!"

"Doggie, ha! That thing's a wolf!"

"Come off it, you're just his bitch."

I turned a corner, and saw two men in the light of a solitary battery-run lantern. This reminded me instantly of old-time jailors. One was short and stocky, and the other was taller but still the same build. Neither had noticed me, so I sank back into the shadows, ducked out of sight, and listened.

"So, what they here for, anyway?"

The other scoffed scornfully. "Don't you know anything? They're STARS. Not just STARS, but the STARS. The people who caused so much trouble in Raccoon City and in Antarctica. They're the tope of Umbrella's Most Wanted list."

"Raccoon?" His companion seemed confused, talking in a quiet voice that made me hold my breath so the sound of the air filling my lungs didn't drown his words out. "But I read every newspaper article about that, and there was never any particularly special mention of STARS."

"You can't believe everything you read, you know."

_STARS? They're here!_

I felt a momentary flash of pride at having being right in my predictions that they would be imprisoned on the top floor, but this feeling was quickly chased away by the fact that there were two armed thugs between my unarmed self and the locked door. Being probably below the tallest's chin, it was painfully obvious that to get past them I would require some sort of weapon or help to gain access,

I stole silently away. In the back of my mind, I hoped that soon this would be all over and I could stop this mincing around – it was enough to make me wish that as an eight year old I had donned the tutu and joined my more refined friends in ballet lessons. But in the meantime, I had to make do with making my clomping way through the dark corridors that were still warmed by the extinguishing heat of the day, feeling uncomfortably as subtle as an elephant farting in church.

All the rooms were locked tightly, except for one. My fingers brushed over the useless light-switch on the wall before they finally came into contact with a smooth round door handle. I gently twisted it open, testing for resistance and keeping it quiet.

Inside it was so dark that all light seemed to be absorbed. Blinking, I took a hesitant step inwards and automatically collided with something. There was an achingly loud 'DONK!' as something fell to the floor. The noise almost gave me a heart attack. Unfortunately, so did the alarmed cry from the two on sentry. I crawled into the small room, careful not to create anymore havoc, and closed the door behind me.

_Smooth, Ruth._

I was in a cleaning cupboard - that much was obvious from the strong, suffocating smell of the alkaline cleaning fluids. I had walked into some sort of trolley that housed mops, buckets, and bottles of spray cleaner. Crawling behind this interesting contraption, I sat, hoping I was hidden from the door's vantage point.

My heart was in my mouth as I heard the muted murmur of the guards approaching my hiding place slowly. In my mind's eyes I could see them searching the corridor, seeing the cupboard door, preparing to open it...

_Calm. Serene. Unworried._

The handle twisted. I could hear the door mechanism squeaking and then felt the rush of air as the door was opened. Then the light from the lantern came, bathing the mops in a soft golden glow. I stayed as still as I could, keeping my breathing low, steady and even like I had been taught too, and hoped.

Then, a noise! The light faded in intensity as the lantern was held away, and then disappeared completely as the guards moved in the direction of the new sound. I stayed frozen for a moment or two before leaving my unlikely haven.

The end of the corridor was lit by the pale glow of the lantern-toting sentries who had disappeared around the corner. I backed away from them, moving in the opposite direction to put as much distance between us as was possible.

_Who, or what, had made the noise? _

There were no B.O.Ws in this place – thank god. At least, none that I had come across. But I personally found armed guards more frightening than severely ill individuals. Christopher Finch flashed across the inwards eye – not the strong, confident researcher I had met in the Break Room, but the dead and empty corpse lying on the cold floor somewhere below me.

Yes, a weapon was in order.

I continued down the corridor away from my locked-up friends. My progress was slow. Despite all my training, breathless fear seemed close, and reminded me that for all my bravado I had never had to face an outbreak situation – or indeed, any situation. Up to this point, my work had been limited to classroom exercises. And yet somehow I acted like I knew it all, like I could handle anything that came my way.

I almost hoped the act spilled over into reality.

_Come off it! I don't know what's going on, and I don't know how much I can do. But I told Chris in the kitchen last night that I'd get the job done, and that's damn well what I am going to do. No if, buts or maybes. That is how it's going to go._

I remember my first training exercise. We were all sat down in a semi-circle around some unknown teacher. It was outside, in some one's well cared-for garden. The jasmine was in flower and the sweet scent had stained the air. I knew nothing about what I was doing. And yet, I was more confident than I had ever been.

"_What harm can happen in a garden so pretty?"_ I guess that's what I was thinking. It was so like Gramma's, before the arthritis in her wrists got too bad and she couldn't garden any more. The flower beds, the pansies, the blue-purple-pink combinations and that irrepressible jasmine that climbed the trellis. Yeah, I guess the garden had struck a chord in my psyche.

I wanted to catch that feeling of confidence. The innocence – no, naivety – that nothing could go wrong in such a place. As it turned out, I had been in for a lesson about camouflage – the first of many. Others who had been learning with me had been nervous beyond words, listening to rumours fuelled by imagination. But seeing the garden, I had been soothed.

By tapping into the memory of that comfortable, anticipatory easiness of my younger self, walking through the dark hallways suddenly became a lot easier. No longer did the ghosts of the past haunt my mind and whisper with echoing voices, no longer did the grisly sight of my parents stay in front of my eyes, or Rebecca Chambers, or Christopher Finch. For however long the illusion lasted, they were locked in the past.

I guess everyone has their little tricks to keep themselves sane when the going gets tough. Huh, what a cliché. Going gets tough, when push comes to shove, when the chips are down, when time is out. Pull together or push apart. But the fact remains, it's true. Everyone has a way of dealing – they have to. And I found that evening that mine was to fake it and let karma do the rest.

There's no point in being scared of something you can't control.

As a scientific fact, every year there are many unreported near meteor-strikes. If one should hit, we wouldn't even get a chance to kiss our good intentions goodbye. But no amount of stress or loss of sleep would change that fact, would it? So, live life, and get on with it.

Oh, so easy to say.

Confident in the knowledge that I was a good person and those trying to kill me were bad people and that karma would thus obviously support me, I swaggered along with all my bravado in tow. The final blow to my ego came when I walked around the corner – and was pulled through a doorway into another dark room.

The hand on my upper-arm had long, elegant fingers that were capped with nails kept short and neat. Currently they were painted in the style of a French manicure, which gleamed in the limited moonlight. The hand itself had skin kept soft with moisturizing lotions. This hand was attached to a Eurasian beauty that instantly inspired a great deal of envy from me.

"Shh," she murmured, pulling me further into the room.

"Who are you?" I asked, furious that I had gotten over-confident and then been deflated so quickly.

Her elegant brow wrinkled in reprimand as she shut the door quietly, taking her time and testing the resistance in such a way to make the door close silently. Then she motioned for us to move away from the door, coming to rest sitting on top of a bench near a window. I choose to remain standing, crossing my arms haughtily and pouting before I realized how childish I must have looked.

"My name is Ada," she told me in a bored, low whisper, "And I am the person who has been tailing you since yesterday at the whim of HCF. Admittedly, not how I would have chosen to spend my time. I missed _CSI: Miami_ last night. You are Ruth. Introduction over. Happy?"

_Ada. Ada Wong. _I had heard about her, both from Henare and other HCF sources – which included the rumour mill. No one really knew much about her. I had come to the conclusion that she was spy that answered to Harold Corwin alone, detecting enemies and moles within the ranks of the company. Best to tread carefully, I decided, and don't let anger get the better of you.

"Very happy, thank you."

"The only reason I'm here talking to you is that you're running around blind. I'm not supposed to be involved. Fortunately, the security cameras are all out, so I don't have to worry about Umbrella finding out about me. Seeing as you've almost jeopardized this mission many times over already, here's what I'm going to do: I'll get the files Mister Corwin is over, you blow up the facility. With or without the STARS."

I blinked in the face of her dominating personality. "How do I know you'll take the files back to Mister Corwin?"

"Because I'm going to. But even if I don't, what does it matter? Your main objective is to raze the building to the ground, or whatever you're going to do. The files were just the icing on the cake." Her dark eyes seemed to show no lie, but woman such as her are experts at hiding their true motives. These eyes then flickered over me. "You're unarmed?"

"Yes."

"Here," in her perfectly manicured fingers she held a key. "It's to Researcher Finch's office. I think you'll find some of your things in there." She almost seemed to smile. "He's got a pet."

_A dog, _I thought, remembering the conversation between the two guards. Taking it, I thanked her lowly.

She inclined her head, short dark hair falling forward in a shining curve. Knowing my own was probably woolly and static-ridden, it was very easy to dislike her. "Security will soon be up and running. By then I should have all the files needed. You won't be seeing me again, unless we run into each other by chance."

It was nothing more than I had expected. I didn't know her; she didn't know me, why would we risk our lives for each other?

"I needed to give you the key because there's a lot riding on this tonight. I mean, if the project isn't shut down, well... then Umbrella could easily catch up and put us out of the running." She swung herself off the bench. Before she opened the door and disappeared into the inky blackness, she looked back at me. "If you should find Leon Kennedy, don't tell him you know who I am."

"Alright," I agreed bemusedly. She gave an unusual smile, and then was gone.

I waited for thirty seconds before I slipped into the corridor after her. It was then that I realized I had no idea where Christopher Finch's office was. It could have been on the ground floor for all I knew. But hopefully it would be a little bit closer to where I was. At least with Ada Wong supposedly getting the files – and I had no reason to doubt that she wasn't – that was something I didn't have to worry about. If the rumours were correct then she was a talented hacker and could access such records from even a receptionist's computer.

Back in the corridor, I headed uncertainly down. I had one hand against the wall, guiding me like I was blind. It will always be a mystery how people with no sight can move so confidently and fit into a world largely made to be exploited by those with all their senses intact. This hand brushed over many doors and nametags before coming to one that was engraved.

Engraved. You wouldn't engrave an unimportant sign, would you?

You wouldn't have a little square with 'lavatory' engraved when 'president' was just printed…

Searching fingers quickly found a small keyhole, and after a fair bit of drunken-esque fumbling the key was made to fit the hole. The click of the metal turning against the tongue of the lock made a loud echo in the corridor, but the door itself sailed inwards on smooth hinges.

Then, a gruff pant as something leapt towards me! A heavy weight hit either shoulder, making me fall and then pinning me to the ground. Hot air blew on my face, interrupted by a low bark.

_Hold up – bark? _

It took my dulled brain a second that seemed an age to realize the hot-breathed creature sitting on my torso was a dog. Further more, it was my dog – my Kavik, my little German shepherd who had been left behind weeks ago in Bottle Lake Forest to face an uncertain fate.

"Kavik?"

I felt certain a doggy grin spread across his face with a simultaneous whine. Managing to push him off me, I looked at my dog – tied ineffectually to a desk by a leash – with mixed emotions. Sure, I was happy, if not confused, to see my dog again. I had indeed missed his doggy ways and unrestrained friendliness. But I also knew that having an extra body – much more a canine that, while smart and affectionate, I could barely control – made the situation much more perilous. However, the expectant thumping of his tail took me out of my muddled thoughts, and reached a hand out to scratch his ears.

I guess Kavik had made a friend of Researcher Finch, for a dog bowl lay nestled in the corner of two walls, overshadowed by a rubber plant in a pot. The next thing that caught my eye was my weaponry piled neatly on the top of the desk. There were other firearms here as well, and I believed them to be belonging to the STARS. As I could not carry all of them, I made a mental note to come back here when they were free. The room was free from the accumulation of paperwork that I would have deemed normal and I came to the conclusion that Miss Wong had already been through this room.

It came to my attention, as I checked the Berettas were both loaded and 'ready to roll', that in coming to Researcher Finch's office, I had found one of my much-needed weapons.

"Heya, Kavik," I mumbled, smiling thoughtfully. His head cocked onto on side. Dark canine eyes peered back at me from a cunning-seeming face. "I think I have my load of karma due."

* * *

_(AN: I hope you like it! I hope the next update won't be too far away! The plot bunnies look ready to escape on me, and there are beavers everywhere! Please review!)_


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